


jenny calendar's guide to inter-house unity

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: witches, watchers, slayers [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: As Giles and Jenny attempt to collaborate on a difficult project, Buffy and the gang try to piece together the person (or thing) responsible for the Muggleborns getting petrified throughout Hogwarts.
Relationships: Jenny Calendar/Remus Lupin, Rupert Giles & Xander Harris, Tara Maclay & Minerva McGonagall
Series: witches, watchers, slayers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090524
Comments: 118
Kudos: 94





	1. summer correspondence between the ducklings

**Author's Note:**

> WOW, WHAT? i'm writing the SECOND INSTALLMENT? i have SOLID PLANS for it? what in the actual heck is going down. i'm so excited to be posting this and SO hopeful that it is enjoyed, because this chapter was so fun to write!
> 
> minor content warning: this fic is going to be talking pretty frankly about harry's abusive home life as people attempt to get him out of there.

_Willow!!!!!!!!!!_

_OH MY GOSH MORGANA IS SO CUTE! I can’t believe your mom let you get her! I asked my mom like twenty thousand times if she’d get me an owl, but she said she and my dad already got me a broomstick “against her better judgment,” whatever that means, and they’re not spending more money ‘cause broomsticks are_ really _expensive. I’m not allowed to fly on my broomstick in the backyard, ‘cause Mom says she doesn’t want to have to try and explain things to the neighbors, so I’m super duper looking forward to going back to school. Which is WEIRD, ‘cause usually summer is my favorite time ever! But mostly I just miss you guys._

 _You’re still able to come to my pool party on Saturday, right? I know your parents have been traveling a lot more than you expected, and I really want to see you before school starts up! Faith says she’s too busy, and Tara and Xander are both still at Hogwarts (plus Xander says his parents would totally flip if they found out he went over to my house, and obviously nobody wants that to happen), but Ron and Hermione both said they could come! AND Ron said he’s bringing some of his brothers and his little sister! So it’s going to be a really big party if you can make it, and probably_ really _fun!!! Please come!!!! I miss you!!!!!!!!_

 _Have you heard from Harry? I sent him like five letters and a lot of candy, but I haven’t gotten anything back. Ron says he’s tried to invite Harry over four or five times but_ he _hasn’t gotten anything back either. Hopefully everything’s okay over there, ‘cause Ron’s been talking about using a flying car to bust Harry out. Don’t worry, though—OBVIOUSLY I made him promise that he’d swing by my house and take me with him if he did something like that. No way he’s the only one who gets to fly in a FLYING CAR._

_Write back soon!!! I wanna see Morgana again and give her more head scritches. And hear from you, obviously!_

_Buffy_

* * *

“DO A KICK-FLIP!” Fred yelled.

“DO A CANNONBALL!” George yelled.

“Don’t do _either_ of those, it’s _dangerous!”_ Percy chided, bobbing up and down in his inner tube.

“KICK-FLIP CANNONBALL BONANZA!!!” Buffy yelled, and flung herself off the diving board, trying to kick-flip and cannonball at the same time. She hit the water with a _splat._

“BELLY-FLOP!” chorused Fred and George, and proceeded to laugh hysterically.

“Ooooh,” said Hermione sympathetically when Buffy surfaced. “That looked like it _hurt._ Are you okay?”

“Buffy belly flops _all_ the time,” said Dawn, who was sitting on the edge of the shallow end with her feet in the water. “She’s _used_ to it.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at Dawn. Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy. “I’m _fine,”_ Buffy informed Hermione, raising her voice so that Dawn could hear her. “I could totally do a kick-flip cannonball bonanza _five more times_ if I wanted to.”

“Please don’t,” said Hermione. Then, “Oh, look, Ron’s about to do the _high dive!”_

“Ronald, _be careful!”_ called Ron’s mom from the picnic tables, looking like she was already contemplating scaling the high dive and bringing him back down.

“Mum, I’m _twelve!”_ Ron shot back. “I can handle this!”

“DO A BELLY FLOP!” yelled Fred and George.

“Well, _that’s_ supportive,” said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron wavered, looking down at the pool below him. His eyes went from his siblings to Buffy to the gaggle of parents at the picnic tables—and locked, unexpectedly, on Hermione’s. With a weirdly shy smile, he gave her a little wave.

Hermione grinned back, waving up at him. “You can do it, Ron!” she called.

Without hesitation, Ron jumped, hitting the water feet-first. He came up a few seconds later, spluttering and laughing, and Hermione and Buffy swam over to check on him. _“Wicked!”_ he informed them, beaming. “Buff, you’ve _gotta_ try it!”

“I’m _so_ gonna,” Buffy agreed.

“Please don’t belly-flop off the high dive,” said Hermione with some worry.

“I am gonna _kick-flip cannonball bonanza_ off the high dive, Hermione,” Buffy informed her with dignity.

“…same difference, Buffy.”

“Hang on,” said Fred suddenly, swimming over to the edge of the pool to squint towards their parents. “Is that your friend Willow with her parents?”

 _“Willow?”_ gasped Hermione and Buffy, delighted.

“I mean, yeah,” said George from next to them, “but they’ve got two other people with them. A man, and—”

“Holy _crabcakes!”_ gasped Buffy, eyes widening as she saw the woman shaking hands with her mom. _“That’s Jenny Calendar!”_

* * *

_Dear Tara,_

_I’ve been writing a whole bunch of letters lately, thanks to my new owl Morgana! I hope you give her a few head scritches for her troubles, because she’s been working really, really hard. I give her twenty head scritches per letter because I want to make sure she knows her efforts are appreciated. She’s the best girl in the whole world!!_

_You asked about how I was doing—well, I’m doing pretty great! My parents and I have been traveling A LOT—we do it every summer, and sometimes it makes me a little sad that they go to a whole bunch of important Ministry events and leave me in the hotel, but lately they’ve been letting me come with them and meet all the important people that they do! I’ve gotten to talk to a whole bunch of government officials and Muggle-rights activists and stuff, and all of them are_ so _surprised when they find out I’m in Slytherin? They always think I’m in Ravenclaw. Someday I’m going to be really important AND really nice and everyone will feel really bad for being so mean about Slytherins all the time._

_I heard from Buffy that you’re not going to be able to make it to her pool party on account of staying with Professor McGonagall. I hope you know that I’ll really miss you! I promise I’ll take a few pictures while I’m there, ‘cause I bet you miss everybody a whole bunch. I know I do. My parents and I are leaving on another business trip with some family friends, but when I told them about Buffy’s pool party, my parents thought it would be really cool to visit a Muggle house—and so did the family friends. So I hope it’s okay with Buffy that I’m bringing a lot of people? (I have a feeling Buffy and Hermione are going to know at least one of them—hint hint!!)_

_Thank you so much for the flowers you sent me! I’m so glad that Professor Sprout gave you a whole patch in Greenhouse Two just to grow stuff over the summer. That’s super cool, and it sounds like you’re having so much fun staying at Hogwarts over the summer!_

_How’s the stuff with your dad going? When I asked Professor McGonagall about it, she said something about how you’re a ward of Hogwarts now. So does that mean you get to live there and never have to see him again? Sometimes I worry about you, you know. I think you deserve to live in a bright, sunny place and grow as many flowers as you want._

_I hope this letter isn’t too weird. I got a little blushy when I wrote that last part._

_Your friend,_

_Willow_

* * *

“Joyce, right?” Jenny Calendar was shaking Buffy’s mom’s hand. “Thanks so much for having us. I’m sure this is a little weird—”

“Oh, no, not at all!” Buffy’s mom beamed. “Buffy has a scrapbook of your articles in her bedroom! It’s the first time I’ve seen her _this_ excited about reading, actually—”

 _“MO-OM!”_ Buffy objected, weaving her way through the parents to grab Willow’s hand. Willow beamed. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“So you _don’t_ have a Jenny Calendar scrapbook?” teased Buffy’s mom.

 _“Ugh!”_ said Buffy, who had gone pink.

“Bye, Jenny! Bye, Remus!” Willow gave Jenny and her husband a little wave and an apologetic smile as Buffy all but dragged her towards the pool. “Sorry I didn’t tell you she was coming, Buffy—”

“I can’t believe Jenny Calendar knows I have a _scrapbook!”_ Buffy burst out, pulling Willow over to the deep end. Ron was floating on his back, but Hermione was pulling herself out of the pool, eyes on Jenny Calendar. “I hate my mom _so much!_ She’s _so_ embarrassing!”

“Oh, Buffy, it’s not that bad!” Hermione reassured Buffy, patting her on the shoulder. “I’m sure Jenny Calendar’s delighted to hear that someone cares about the things that she’s writing.”

 _“HHHGH,”_ said Buffy, burying her face in Willow’s shoulder.

Hermione and Willow exchanged an amused look. “D’you want to try and dive off the board?” Hermione asked Willow. “Ron went off the _high dive_ and he didn’t belly flop at _all!”_

From the pool, Ron beamed, sticking his hand out of the water to give the girls a thumbs-up. “It’s just talent,” he informed them, right before Fred and George flipped him over into the water. _“OW!_ Get _off,_ Fred—”

“I _do_ want to try the high dive,” said Willow hopefully, gently untangling herself from Buffy. “I bet I can do it headfirst! I was able to do it from the low dive at the pool by my parents’ house, but we don’t have a dive _this_ high!”

“How come all of _you_ get to try the high dive but Mom won’t let _me?”_ objected an indignant Dawn, her head popping up from the water right by the low dive.

Buffy raised her head to roll her eyes at her little sister. “Dawnie,” she said, “you’re _still_ holding the wall.”

“Am not!” said Dawn, let go of the wall, floundered, and grabbed it again.

 _“DAWN!”_ called Buffy’s mom. “Stay out of the deep end!”

“I _hate_ being the baby!” Dawn huffed, climbing back out of the pool.

Ginny Weasley then proceeded to climb up the ladder to the high dive, aim herself carefully at the water, jump off the board, and enter the water _just_ close enough to splash Fred and George in the eyes. _“Ow!”_ yelled George, letting go of Ron to chase after his sister. “Ginny, I _know_ that was on purpose—”

Fred swam over to the edge, peering up at Buffy, Willow, and Hermione. “Why’s she upset?” he asked, nodding towards Buffy.

“Jenny Calendar knows that Buffy has a scrapbook all about her,” explained Willow.

Fred snorted. “That’s nothing compared to Mum’s Lockhart collage,” he said. “You’re fine, Buff.”

“Mum’s got a _Lockhart collage?”_ said Ron, sounding viscerally horrified.

“A what?” said Buffy curiously.

“Oh, you don’t want to know,” said Willow, wrinkling her nose. She didn’t think very much of Gilderoy Lockhart, though she _was_ pretty curious as to how he’d written _so_ many books about how great he was. All of his facts were entirely correct, she’d _checked,_ and yet—

“Remus, _no!”_ came a laughing voice from the other side of the pool. Looking up, Willow saw that Remus had scooped Jenny up bridal-style, carrying her over towards the deep end of the pool. “You _can’t_ do this every time I start talking about work over the summer!”

“Where there’s a pool, there’s a way, dear!” Remus countered.

Buffy froze.

“Aww, c’mon, Buffy!” Willow hugged her around the shoulders. “Jenny’s not that bad! She’s _really_ nice!”

 _“I Know That,”_ Buffy hissed through her teeth. “But she’s just so _cool!_ What if she doesn’t like me?”

Remus staggered over and threw Jenny into the deep end. She resurfaced a few seconds later, still laughing as she bobbed in the water. “I am so sorry,” she wheezed, gripping the wall with one hand and pushing her hair out of her eyes with the other.

“Well, you made a _splash,”_ Remus countered, leaning down to ruffle her hair. “Isn’t that what you’re always looking to do at social functions?”

Ginny and Hermione both started giggling.

“Hi, Jenny!” said Willow, trying not to laugh herself. She let go of Buffy, sitting down on the edge of the pool next to Jenny. “Are you okay?”

“Thank god I had enough foresight to change into my swimsuit before we showed up,” Jenny answered, grinning up at Willow. “How are you doing, Willow? Do you wanna introduce me to your friends?”

“Yes!” Willow beamed. “This is Hermione, and that’s Buffy, and they both really love your writing! Buffy’s read the articles that came out this year, but Hermione—”

“I’ve read _everything_ you’ve _ever_ written!” Hermione burst out, lighting up like a Christmas tree as she knelt down next to Willow. “I really enjoyed that article you wrote in the late 1980s—that one about the injustices perpetrated against werewolves in the wizarding community?”

“Yeah, well, that one’s particularly important to me,” said Jenny, and gave Remus a little sideways smile. “And the rest of you are all Arthur Weasley’s kids, right?”

“You know our dad?” said a surprised Ron.

Jenny laughed somewhat ruefully. “Your dad,” she said, “is pretty much the only person at the Ministry who actually _likes_ me. He talks a _lot_ about his kids. It’s really sweet.”

“Jenny, you’re quite melodramatic,” said Remus, cracking a smile. “The Rosenbergs seem to enjoy your company well enough.”

“The Rosenbergs go without saying!” Jenny tugged at Remus’s leg. “Are you gonna come into the pool, or are you just throwing _me_ into the deep end?”

“Ms. Cal—um—Jenny Cal—hhHHH,” said Buffy, and hid her face in her hands.

“Buffy really likes you,” Hermione added helpfully. “She’s just really shy because you mean a lot to her! She has your Chocolate Frog card—”

“GHH,” said Buffy.

Jenny tilted her head a little, then pulled herself out of the pool to lean down and gently tug Buffy’s hands away from her face. “Hi, Buffy!” she said, smiling reassuringly. “It really means a lot to _me_ that you like what I write so much. You’re going into your second year at Hogwarts, right?”

Eyes wide and round, Buffy nodded.

“Why don’t we go get a snack and chat?” Jenny held her hand out to Buffy, who took it. “I’d love to get to know you a little better.”

A slow, shy smile spread across Buffy’s face, and she nodded again, letting Jenny lead her back towards the picnic tables.

“Remus Lupin?” said Hermione earnestly. “You’re Jenny’s husband, aren’t you? _And_ you co-founded the Lycanthropy Support Organization with her?”

“The—yes,” said Remus, looking somewhat surprised. “You’re a bit young to know about _that.”_ He smiled slightly at Willow. “Though I suppose it makes sense—you being _Willow’s_ friend and all. Birds of a feather, and all that.”

Willow _glowed._ She always loved it when Remus and Jenny were around. They _always_ paid attention to the things she had to say, and they had nice things to say about her, and it made her feel _really_ special.

“I have _so many questions_ about lycanthropy,” said Hermione enthusiastically. “You and your wife built the existing werewolf support system from the ground up, working _tirelessly_ against centuries of ingrained prejudice! Can you speak a bit more on the subject?”

Behind Remus, Jenny had turned around to start laughing at him. “Yeah, Remus!” she called. “Can you talk more about your job, even though it’s summer?”

“Hermione, I would be honored,” said Remus, “only I am _deeply_ afraid that my wife will push me into this swimming pool if I do.”

“It is a _pool_ party, Mr. Lupin,” pointed out Fred. “You’ll have to get wet at _some_ point.”

“Give me a sec, Buffy,” said Jenny, squeezing Buffy’s hand before letting it go and striding back towards Remus.

Remus gave Jenny a sort of affectionately resigned smile, then said to Hermione, “Well. The LSO was largely Jenny’s idea, which—”

Willow had to step back to avoid the splash.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Everyone’s been trying to send you letters but we haven’t gotten a single response back! I really, really hope you’re okay. I worry about you at the Dursleys’ and I don’t think you should have been sent back there. Everyone else just thinks it’s only a tiny bit bad there, but now that I’ve been staying with Professor McGonagall, I know a little bit more about the kinds of places that are safe to live in and the kinds of places that aren’t. Our places aren’t. I think you should be at Hogwarts with me and Xander._

_Xander comes up from Hogsmeade a lot to spend time with me!! It’s very nice of him. Usually we spend a lot of time helping Hagrid with his magical creatures, or planting in my flower garden, or borrowing books from the library on behalf of Professor Giles. Professor McGonagall says she’s glad I have someone my age to spend time with, and she hopes that next summer, the Ministry will be able to sort out a wizarding family for me to live with. She filed a report of abuse with the Ministry, and my dad didn’t want things to go to trial, so he just signed the papers that agreed I should be a ward of Hogwarts. I haven’t told her anything about what’s going on with you, because I want to talk more with you about that before I do anything that might upset you—but you haven’t responded to any of my letters, so if I don’t hear from you at_ all, _I might_ have _to talk with Professor McGonagall. I really hope that that doesn’t upset you._

_I’ve sent you a lot of pressed flowers from my garden! I hope they make you smile, and I hope I see or hear from you soon. Everyone is really, really worried about you, like I said—so please, please write back if you can!_

_Love,_

_Tara_

* * *

“He’s probably fine,” Xander informed Tara through a mouthful of five of Professor McGonagall’s shortbread cookies. “I bet he’s just too busy to answer your letters or something.”

“Nobody _else_ is,” Tara pointed out. “And would _you_ put off writing letters to _everyone_ if everyone thought something was wrong?”

Xander swallowed, then gave her a sheepish grin. “Probably.”

Tara rolled her eyes, smiling reluctantly. _“Well,”_ she said. “I think Harry would write back if he knew everyone was worried.”

“Ron wrote me and said he was going to fly the car over, though—”

“That’s a very bad idea. I wrote him and told him not to do it.”

“Ron says _all_ you girls are saying don’t fly the car,” said Xander, rolling his eyes.

Tara raised an eyebrow. “Even Buffy?”

“Buffy’s gonna be a Chaser next year _and_ Ron says she did a kick-flip cannonball bonanza off the diving board at her pool party,” Xander informed Tara. “She’s _basically_ an honorary boy.”

“And it’s such a bad thing to be a girl?”

Xander shook his head. “Girls are just smart!” he said earnestly. “Like Professor McGonagall and Jenny Calendar. Me and Ron and Buffy, we’re…” He trailed off. “You know what, I don’t think I want to finish that sentence.”

“I can see why.” Tara took a shortbread cookie, taking a small bite. “How’s Professor Giles doing?”

Xander beamed. “I _knew_ there was something I forgot to tell you!” he said. “Giles’s cat had kittens!”

Tara’s jaw dropped. “kITTENS?” she shrieked.

 _“Whoa!”_ Xander covered his ears. “I almost _miss_ when you were stuttering all the time!”

Professor McGonagall chose this moment to enter the room with two mugs of hot chocolate. Setting one down in front of Tara, she handed the other one to Xander and said, _“Mr._ Harris, if you visit me every single day, kindly cut down your biscuit intake. I will be left with only crumbs by mid-June.”

“…kitties!!!” Tara all but sobbed.

“Tara, are you quite all right?” said Professor McGonagall with some concern.

“I, uh,” Xander winced, rubbing the back of his neck, “kinda told her about how Professor Giles’s cat had kittens.”

Professor McGonagall’s mouth quirked a little as she looked at Tara. “Well,” she said. “I may have to re-evaluate my plans for today; it seems of the _utmost_ importance that I escort you and Tara to Hogsmeade post-haste.”

“…what?” said Xander.

“Who am I to keep Miss Maclay from kittens?” said Professor McGonagall, and actually _smiled_ at Tara. If Tara wasn’t so busy thinking about little baby kittens and their little baby kitten paws, she might have smiled back.

* * *

_Hi Faith,_

_I know writing to you is a long shot, because you said the orphanage doesn’t usually let kids get letters, but I figured I could at least mail this one through Muggle post without the Dursleys noticing anything. I’ve tried writing to Buffy, and to Willow, seeing as they both gave me their addresses, but they haven’t written me anything back. I was just wondering—_

* * *

Harry stared down at the letter, a lump in his throat. There was no way this letter would reach Faith, so he supposed he could be honest.

* * *

_—do you know why no one’s written me anything? Ron said he was going to ask me to come and stay over the summer, and the girls all promised to write me lots of letters to keep me from having to think about Dudley, and Xander said he would send me some wizard comic books that he had doubles of. I know why_ you’re _not writing me, at least—you said yourself that you probably won’t be able to write anyone. But I at least thought that the people who_ said _they’d write me would do it._

_I miss Hogwarts so much. I bet you do too. An orphanage sounds about as fun as living with the Dursleys. Probably more fun, actually, ‘cause you’re not doing all the housework and no one tries to hit you with the frying pan._

_Write me back if this reaches you._

_Harry_

* * *

“BOY!” came a yell from downstairs.

Swallowing hard, Harry folded the letter into precise thirds—then crumpled it up and tossed it into the wastebasket. What was the point, anyway?

* * *

_hermione_

_I AM SO SO SO SO SO BORED HERE. no one pays any attention to me except to make fun of me for going to a snooty boarding school and i cant even hex them or anything! so i just have to kick everybodys knees instead AND i have to do my homework in SECRET so no one sees me writing wierd witchy shit and the worst part is that i LIKE doing my homework now that im back here. do you know how much a place has to SUCK for me to like doing HOMEWORK? all the other girls make fun of me cause i dont hang out with them anymore and i dont hang out with them anymore cause i like homework and i miss my REAL friends!!!! im a NERD now_

_i cant send you this letter but im writing it anyway cause im JUST THAT BORED UGH._

_faith_

* * *

“Mr. Pinky,” Faith whispered, “do _you_ know who the Minister of Magic was in 1877? ‘Cause I’m _stumped.”_

Mr. Pinky just looked at Faith with his big button eyes.

“Well, what about you, Mrs. Blue Bunny?”

Mrs. Blue Bunny, who Faith had been using to help hold up her blanket fort, fell over.

“I miss studying with Hermione and Willow,” Faith muttered. “I didn’t have to do _any_ work, _and_ I didn’t talk to stuffed animals.” Picking up Mr. Pinky, she hugged him close, grinning a little into his soft pink head. Mr. Pinky was the first thing a _friend_ had given her, she thought, and even if these next few months were going to be boring as shit, she was going to be seeing her friends again _really_ soon.

After a moment of consideration, she pulled out her fake letter to Hermione, scribbling a postscript.

* * *

_PS who was the minister of magic in 1877 because i dont know that one on our history of magic homework_

* * *

Maybe she could figure out a way to send Hermione a letter if she _really_ thought hard about it. If she wrote HOGWARTS on it in big letters, a wizard would _probably_ find it and figure out how to get it to Hermione, right?

* * *

_Hello, Xander!_

_I hope you’re having a wonderful time with Professor Giles. Are you learning anything new? Has he told you anything about what he’ll be teaching us in second year? Have you asked him any of the questions I sent in my last letter? I hope you have. I sent a lot of questions directly to him, but then I thought of a lot of new ones while I was writing you, so don’t worry if he says he’s already answered all of my questions. He likely doesn’t know about the ones I sent via your letter._

_I’m extremely busy with schoolwork, but I did take some time off today to visit Buffy and her family! Did you know that Willow’s parents are friends with Jenny Calendar, the Muggle rights activist Buffy and I made a scrapbook for? We talked to Jenny and her husband and they’re both really nice. Jenny even says she’ll happily answer any letters from me, Buffy, or any of our school friends, so if you want to write her for some extra credit…well, I’m sure at least one of our professors would appreciate the initiative. I suspect Professor Giles appreciates Jenny Calendar’s work to some degree at least; he quoted one of her articles in one of our last classes of the semester. No one noticed but me. (Buffy would have, I think, if she wasn’t busy trying to eat candy without Professor Giles noticing_ that.)

_If you also haven’t heard from Harry, would you please try writing him a letter again? I’ve tried quite a few times, but I haven’t gotten any reply, and neither has anyone else. Perhaps he’d respond more easily to a letter from you or Ron. I don’t think that really sounds like him, but I’m trying to approach this problem from every angle._

_Please please please send me pictures of the new kittens!!! They sound adorable!!!!!!_

_Love from Hermione_

* * *

Hermione tacked the picture from the pool party up on her wall as _soon_ as Buffy sent her a copy, and made a pointed note on her packing-for-school to-do list regarding taking the photo down and bringing it with her to school. She wanted to see it for the remaining few months that she was staying with her parents, though, because it was _officially_ one of her favorite photos _ever:_ Jenny Calendar and Remus Lupin standing with Buffy, Ron, Willow, and Hermione, all six of them still soaking wet from the pool. Buffy still looked a little starstruck, her eyes on Jenny Calendar’s hand (which was resting on her shoulder). Ron was eating a hot dog and had mustard all over his face. Remus Lupin had a soft little half-smile. Hermione and Willow were grinning ear-to-ear at the camera, which made sense, because it had been such a _fun_ day.

Hermione had _never_ had friends like this in primary school, and now she _did—_ and she felt positively certain that she’d have them for a long time coming.

* * *

_Hey Ron,_

_Did you know that the Chudley Cannons SUCK!?!?!?!? Ninth in the league AGAIN. You gotta find a new team, dude. The Sunnydale Warthogs are killing it over in California and they’ll probably make it to the World Cup in two years._

_Anyway, now that we’ve got that out of the way, have you heard from Harry? We all keep trying to write him but we don’t get anything back. Tara’s pretty worried._

_Hope you’re having a cool summer._

_Xander_

* * *

“Kittens-kittens-kittens-kittens-kittens!” Tara chanted, practically vibrating with anticipation as the three of them walked down the street towards Giles’s cottage. Professor McGonagall had a tight hold on the back of Tara’s sweater to keep her from getting lost, which Xander thought was a pretty good idea, because Tara seemed barely aware of where she was going.

“How many kittens are there, Mr. Harris?” asked Professor McGonagall, giving him a wry little smile that pretty clearly conveyed _we’re in this one together._

“Uh, five right now,” said Xander. “Giles is planning on keeping one, but he’s giving away the rest.”

 _“He’s giving them away?!”_ Tara gasped.

“You know, Tara,” said Professor McGonagall conversationally, “if you wanted a cat—”

“!!!!!!!” said Tara, pressing her hands to her mouth. She looked like she was about to start crying at any second.

“Yeah, I really should have seen this coming,” said Xander. “She thought the three-headed-dog was a _good boy.”_

“Good lord, I truly understand why this one’s in _my_ House,” said Professor McGonagall with some exhaustion.

Giles was waiting at the door to his cottage. It was hard to think of the guy as “Professor Giles” when you and him ate breakfast together every morning, but they _definitely_ weren’t on a first-name basis, so “Giles” was kind of the compromise that they’d settled on. Buffy had always called Professor Giles _Giles,_ but Xander suspected that that was mostly because Buffy didn’t really pay attention to wizarding rules. “Hello, all,” said Giles warmly. “I’ve got tea on, Minerva, if you’d like to stay a bit?”

“Thank you, Rupert, yes,” said Professor McGonagall, looking a little startled. “How did you know—”

“Pomona owled me to mention that Tara was _quite_ set on seeing the kittens,” said Giles, smiling in Tara’s direction. “Tara, if you’d like to—”

Taking advantage of Professor McGonagall’s slackened grip, Tara pulled herself free, pushing past Professor Giles in her hurry to get to the kittens. “Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, sounding genuinely repentant—and then there was a sobbing shriek of _“Babies!!!”_

Giles winced, rubbing his side. “That girl is certainly coming into her own,” he said.

“I’m quite glad of it,” said Professor McGonagall.

Xander followed Tara inside a little more slowly; he’d seen the kittens before, after all. Giles’s calico cat was named Mimi, and she was _super_ amazing; she would always come up and rub her head against his hand when he was working on his homework. Sitting down next to Tara, he scratched Mimi’s ears. “Giles said I could name them, you know,” he informed her, “but if you wanna name a few, go ahead. I only named two so far.”

“Which two have names?” Tara whispered. She was holding the smallest of the kittens—a black one with little white mittens—close to her chest.

“Uh,” Xander scooped up a calico kitten, “this one’s Spaghetti ‘cause she tried to eat my spaghetti last night, and _then_ she yelled at me when I wouldn’t give her any spaghetti. And _that_ one,” he gestured towards the grey kitten chewing on the hem of Tara’s skirt, “is Bitey, ‘cause he bites _everything.”_

“I want to name this one—” Tara chewed on her lip, thinking, then said, “Miss Kitty Fantastico.”

“That’s an _excellent_ name, Tara,” said Giles, sitting down on the floor between them to gently tug Bitey away from Tara’s skirt. “Would you like to take her home with you?”

Tucking Spaghetti more securely against his chest, Xander got up to check on Professor McGonagall. She was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, which she set down upon seeing him. “Tea, Mr. Harris?” she inquired.

“Do you want to go see the kittens?” Xander asked. “I brought you the best one.” He winced. “Don’t tell the others I said that.”

Professor McGonagall looked somewhat amused. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “May I hold her?”

“Sure,” said Xander, trying to untangle Spaghetti’s claws from his shirt. She dug in, looking up at him with an indignant expression. _“C’mon,_ Spaghetti, you have to meet new people at _some_ point—”

“Mrow!” said Spaghetti reprovingly.

Professor McGonagall chuckled. “I think she likes you.”

“Professor, can I keep this one?” Tara asked hopefully, coming into the kitchen with Miss Kitty Fantastico still cuddled in her arms. Giles followed close behind, grinning a little when he noticed Spaghetti stuck on Xander’s shirt. “I named her Miss Kitty Fantastico and she has _mittens—”_

“Of course you can keep her, Tara,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding almost startled. She stood up to cross the room to Tara, placing a hand on Tara’s shoulder, and Tara beamed up at her. Xander didn’t see _how_ anyone could say no to Tara about _anything._

“Xander,” said Giles quietly, giving him a small smile, “by any chance would you like to keep Spaghetti?”

Xander blinked. “Huh?”

 _“The best one,_ you said.”

“Oh, man. _Don’t_ tell the other kittens I said that, Giles—”

“Well, if Spaghetti’s _your_ cat, I think it makes sense for you to think she’s the best one,” Giles pointed out.

Xander looked nervously down at Spaghetti. “I don’t know,” he said. “My parents—they aren’t the kind of people who are nice to animals.”

Giles’s face twisted a little in that way it always did whenever Xander brought up his parents. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Xander,” he said, his voice completely calm. “If you have to go back and stay with them at any point over the summer, I can always keep her safe for you.”

“…I’ll think about it,” said Xander, looking down at Spaghetti’s big, round eyes. He kind of knew what his answer was going to be, though. Spaghetti’s claws were stuck in _his_ shirt, after all; _she’d_ basically chosen _him._ How could he say no to that?

* * *

_Buffy,_

_Mum says I need to write a thank-you letter for the pool party, which she hasn’t made me do in AGES. It’s rubbish, especially since I know you know I’m thankful and everything. That’s just part of being friends with someone, is being thankful. But anyway, thank you for the pool party. My favourite part was when Percy tried to push Fred into the pool and Fred knocked into George and they both went in like dominoes. My second favourite part was when all of us were eating ice cream together and you said that me and Willow and Hermione were some of the best friends you’d ever had. Normally that would be my favourite part, but the thing with Percy and Fred and George was really funny._

_Let me know if you hear from Harry, okay? Everyone’s really worried. I even got a letter from Xander today asking about him, and Xander keeps forgetting to reply to people’s letters. Only I don’t think Harry’s forgetting._

_Ron_


	2. the summers sisters help steal a car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daily updates are a bit of a grind, haha. i can't promise an updating schedule as regular as it's been, but this fic is definitely my current project, and you probs will be seeing at least two or three chapters a week! pinky promise. <3

Dawn was woken up by a _bright_ light shining through her window. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled herself out of bed to investigate. It wasn’t a full moon tonight—she’d checked her moon calendar, because she liked keeping track of the moon and the stars and things—so she really wasn’t sure why the moon would be shining _this_ brightly. Was there a new streetlight or something?

Opening her curtains, Dawn’s jaw dropped. There was a _car_ outside her window.

This wouldn’t be so totally weird if not for two facts: one, Dawn’s room was on the _second floor,_ which would mean that any cars outside her window wouldn’t be level _with_ her window. Two, this car _was_ level with her window, and as Dawn looked more closely, she realized that the car was _floating in midair._ And Ms. Audrey had said in science class that gravity was a powerful force that worked on _everything,_ including cars—so was this car a special car, like an airplane? Because Dawn had _asked_ about airplanes and Ms. Audrey had said that airplanes had powerful engines that helped them fly, so maybe—

“Buffy?” hissed a voice, and Dawn recognized two of the boys from the pool party a few weeks back. No—three of the boys, because the one who had spoken was sitting in the backseat. “Buf—oh, _no,_ did we get the wrong house?”

Dawn blinked, then _glared._ “Are you Buffy’s school friends?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Oh, hang on, it’s Dawn!” said one of the other boys with great relief.

“Dawn?” The boy in the backseat looked bemused.

“Buffy’s baby sister! We _are_ at the right house.” The second boy—the one in the passenger seat—leaned across his brother to squint at Dawn. “Only we’re looking for your sister, Dawn, so if you could—”

“What are you doing?” said Dawn suspiciously. “Does your mom know you have a flying car?”

“Uh,” said the boy, pulling back. “Ron, can you handle this?”

Ron—the boy in the backseat—gave Dawn a vaguely helpless look, then said, “Look, can you just tell us which window’s Buffy?”

“No,” said Dawn, glaring at the three of them a little more.

“Great—wait. What?”

“No,” said Dawn again. How come _Buffy_ got to have the flying car and the cool friends and the magic school? And Mom said that they weren’t allowed to have friends over after bedtime, anyway, so this was _so_ breaking the rules! “I’m telling my mom.”

“No no no, don’t do that!” said Ron desperately. “Our friend’s in trouble, we have to go get him—”

“I don’t care!” said Dawn. “That’s _your_ problem, not mine! And it’s past my bedtime, so you’re not even supposed to _be_ here! If you don’t go away, I’m going to go wake up my mom, and then you’ll _really_ be in trouble.”

“Dawn, our friend doesn’t _have_ any parents,” Ron persisted. “Just his aunt and uncle, and they’re _really_ mean to him.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Dawn shot back. “You could just be lying to make me go get Buffy for you.”

“Ron, let me handle this,” said the boy in the driver’s seat. Rolling down the window, he leaned out of the car, giving Dawn an easy grin. “Hey, Dawn,” he said. “I’m Fred. How about you and I cut a deal?”

* * *

Buffy had been up ever since Mom had put her to bed. When you knew your friend was going to show up in a _flying car,_ it was hard to get any sleep—especially when you were packing for a non-mom-sanctioned sleepover at your friend’s house. Ron had been to her house, but she hadn’t been to his, and she was _really_ excited to see what it was like in a house with wizard parents. She’d packed her sparkly backpack from elementary school _full_ of outfit changes (wearing only school robes for a whole year had been the _worst),_ she’d changed out of her pajamas as soon as she was sure her parents were asleep, and she’d been sitting impatiently by her open window with the light on for the last three hours.

“Come _on,”_ she muttered, shifting irritably to look out the window for what felt like the hundredth time. “What’s _taking_ you so long, Ron?”

And then she heard it: the sputtering rumble of an engine close by. Heart in her throat, Buffy watched with delight as a bright turquoise car pulled up next to her window—and then her smile froze.

“Hi, Buffy!” said Dawn, who was buckled up in the back seat next to Ron, wearing her Disney Princess pajamas, holding her big stuffed turtle, and looking _unreasonably_ smug. “Fred said I can come with all of you if I don’t tell Mom that you’re having friends over after bedtime.”

 _“Seriously?”_ whispered Buffy, glaring at Ron. _“This!_ This is why I gave you _specific instructions_ about which windows you needed to _avoid!”_

“Look, Buffy—”

“None of you know _anything_ about her!” Buffy pointed to Dawn, who beamed. “ _I_ could have negotiated with her and given her all my TV time, or done all her chores for a month, but now you gave her a _ride in a flying car_ and there’s no _way_ I can top that! Do you know how much trouble I’m going to be in when my mom finds out I kidnapped Dawn?”

“Probably only a _little_ more trouble than when she finds out you ran away in a flying car with us,” pointed out Fred.

 _“That’s so not the point!”_ Buffy huffed. “Now I have to put up with my dumb little sister for this entire car ride!”

“So?” said George. “We have to put up with our dumb little brother this entire car ride!”

 _“Hey!”_ said Ron.

“Hey yourself, Ron, _you’re_ not the one who has to deal with you—”

 _“HHHG,”_ said Buffy, and swung a leg over the window. Fred pulled the car back a little bit from the side of the house, and Ron opened the back door, stretching out a hand to Buffy. She took it, letting him pull her inside. “This is _so_ your fault,” she informed him. “You were the one I gave the instructions to!”

“Buffy, you just sent me a torn-off map from a library book and circled a greenish bit,” said Ron. “Are you really calling that _instructions?”_

“I bet _Hermione_ would have understood it,” Buffy muttered.

“Hermione knows _everything,”_ Ron countered. “Hermione would have understood _without_ instructions.”

“If you two are done bickering,” said Fred from the driver’s seat, “can we get to the actual _rescue_ part of this whole thing?”

“Hold on, let me shut the window,” said Buffy, leaning out to carefully pull her bedroom window shut—and very nearly falling out of the car in the process. Ron grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back in. _“Sheesh,_ Ron, I’m fine!”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” said Ron, shutting the door. “We’re not starting till you buckle up.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy clambered into the passenger seat and obliged. “There. Happy?” She looked around. “Oh _no.”_

“Oh no what?” said Ron.

“There aren’t enough seats!” said Buffy. “Once Harry shows up—”

“We talked about this already before you got here,” Fred replied easily. “Dawn can just sit with you.”

“This is the _WORST,”_ groaned Buffy, and face-planted on the back of George’s seat. Ron patted her head a little awkwardly as Fred began to drive.

* * *

Harry was woken up by a rattling sound. Groaning, he pulled his pillow over his head, trying to block it out—

 _“Harry!”_ hissed Ron’s voice. “Harry, wake up!”

“Oh my gosh, do they have _bars_ on his window?” Buffy’s voice trembled. “Is _this_ why he hasn’t been writing us back?”

Heart pounding, Harry sat up _very_ fast. Ron and Buffy were _both_ staring at him through his barred-up window. _“Ron!”_ he gasped, hurrying to open the window so that they could talk through the bars. _“Buffy!_ What—how—” Abruptly, he saw exactly _how_ they had gotten there. “— _what?”_

“You haven’t answered _any_ of our letters!” Buffy burst out. “Tara’s been _so_ worried—I mean, we’ve all been worried, but you know Tara. She’s been _most_ worried. She tried to send you pictures of her kittens and you didn’t say _anything!”_

“Oh,” said Harry, feeling _awful,_ even though technically it hadn’t been his fault that he hadn’t responded. After a moment, he decided to circle back to his initial question. “Are you in a _flying car?”_

“Well, how _else_ were we supposed to get you?” said Ron, as though this was supposed to be obvious.

“I think that there are a lot of other ways,” said the little girl in the backseat. She looked a _tiny_ bit familiar, Harry thought, though he couldn’t quite place her. She was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. “Did your aunt and uncle put up those bars? That’s not nice.”

“Dawn, _shh,”_ said Buffy.

“Don’t tell me to _shh!”_ Dawn shot back. “You _shh!”_

 _“Dawn,”_ said Harry, and the familiarity solidified: Dawn had the same nose and chin as Buffy’s, and their eyes were a similar color. “You’re Buffy’s little sister! But why are _you_ here too?”

Buffy pulled a face. “These dummies pulled the car up at Dawn’s windows instead of mine,” she grumbled. “Dawn made them take her with us.”

“Wait,” said Harry, staring at Buffy. “Why are _you_ here?”

Buffy gave him a small, lopsided smile. “We were _all_ worried,” she said awkwardly. “A-and when Ron told me he was planning to fly the car—I told him he’d _better_ take me with him. Harry, are you okay?”

Harry swallowed, trying to smile. Sometimes it was hard to answer that question. “Better now,” he said. “Look, can you tell—I don’t know, _someone—_ that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me go back to Hogwarts, and I can’t magic myself out because that isn’t allowed and I don’t want to be expelled, and—”

“We didn’t just come here to _see what was going on,_ you dummy,” said Buffy, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, we’re here to _get_ you!” Ron added with a big grin.

“…oh!” said Harry, and found himself smiling back. “That’s—” His smile faded. “But you can’t magic me out either.”

“We don’t need to,” said Ron cheerfully. “You forget who I’ve got with me.”

The bars came off easily and more quietly than Harry had expected—with, of course, the added power of the Weasleys’ car. As soon as this was done, Buffy said, “Okay, Harry, you need to get _in._ We don’t have a whole bunch of time—”

“My stuff’s locked downstairs,” said Harry nervously.

 _“Where_ downstairs?” said Fred, and grinned, clambering out of the car and through the window into Harry’s room. George followed suit.

“Um—cupboard under the stairs, but the door’s locked too—”

George held up a hairpin.

“Your brothers are _really_ cool,” said Buffy a little breathlessly.

“Oh, _please,”_ said Ron, and made a whole bunch of gagging noises.

“EWW,” said Dawn loudly. “DOES BUFFY HAVE A CRUSH ON—”

“Dawn, I am going to _throw you out of this car!”_ Buffy hissed. Dawn looked entirely unfazed by this threat. Turning back to Harry, Buffy added, “Okay, so you pass stuff to me from your room, Fred and George can get your trunk, and if the Dursleys show up I can just throw Dawn at them. How’s that?”

“Subtract the Dawn-throwing,” said Ron. “I don’t want your mum to hate us any more than she probably already will.”

 _“Please,”_ Buffy scoffed. “My mom knows that I would’ve done something like this even _without_ your help.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Harry hurried to collect everything important from his room, and then to help Fred and George with his trunk. He found himself holding his breath the entire time; if this didn’t work, if the Dursleys heard him, if they found out what he was doing, he felt sure that it would be _ten_ times worse for everyone involved. What if the Dursleys locked Ron and Fred and George and Buffy and Buffy’s baby sister up here with Harry, just to make sure none of the freaks got out? What if they _didn’t,_ but they left the house again just to make sure none of the freaks could _find_ them? What if—

“Don’t forget your owl!” whispered Dawn as Ron, Fred, and Buffy pulled the trunk all the way into the car.

That was a good point. Carefully, Harry picked up Hedwig’s cage, handing it off to Dawn (who did her best to hug Hedwig’s large cage protectively against her chest). After a moment of disbelieving hesitation, he clambered through the window himself, tumbling into the backseat.

“Should we shut the window—”

“I don’t care,” said Harry, and was subsequently tackled in a hug. “Buffy, _ow!”_

“I was so _worried_ about you!” Buffy wailed as Ron pulled the car door shut. Harry thought he could hear the Dursleys stirring—maybe it was just his nerves—but then it didn’t matter, because Fred had started up the car again and they were soaring away from Privet Drive. “Not Tara, I just said that stuff about Tara, but all of us were so _scared,_ you didn’t say _anything,_ and you always say your aunt and uncle are just as bad as Tara’s dad, and Tara had to run away from _home—”_

“Get off!” said Harry with a laugh, hugging Buffy back. “I’m fine, all right?”

“But you’re gonna have to go _back there!”_

“That’s _next summer,”_ Harry reassured her. “And it’s only three months, anyway—”

“That’s what you said _last time!”_

“Yeah, speaking of things that we all said,” said Ron suddenly, “why _weren’t_ you answering our letters? You never said.”

 _“Well,”_ said Harry, and proceeded to explain what had happened with Dobby.

* * *

Dawn got bored halfway through Buffy’s friend’s story about an elf. It wasn’t a good story, and the elf didn’t sound like the fun Santa ones, _and_ whenever she tried to ask questions, Buffy would say, _“Shh,_ Dawn.” Like _Dawn_ was the one who was annoying! Buffy was the _worst._ Dawn hoped that she would get to see Ginny again, because Ginny was the baby too and had been _really_ nice to her at the pool party. They’d played Marco Polo in the shallow end together. (Ginny hadn’t known the rules, though, so Dawn had had to teach her. Wizard kids were _weird.)_

Dawn was still halfway on Buffy’s lap, so she leaned her head against the door of the car—and realized that she was kind of _really_ tired. She’d forgotten how _late_ it was. Or early, she guessed, because it was probably past midnight, and Ms. Audrey had said that the new day began at midnight. Closing her eyes, Dawn positioned Bubbles the turtle against the car door, using him as a pillow to help make the situation a little bit comfier.

Turned out, she didn’t care _that_ much how comfy it was; after she closed her eyes, the sleepiness hit her with _full_ force.

When she opened her eyes again, Buffy was shaking her awake. “Dawnie, c’mon,” Buffy was whispering softly, “we’ve gotta get upstairs before Ron’s mom notices we took the car out!”

Yawning, Dawn latched her arms around Buffy’s neck.

“Oh, _great,”_ Buffy muttered, but picked Dawn up, carrying her out of the car. Dawn nuzzled her face into Buffy’s shoulder. When she was _this_ sleepy, she could admit that sometimes—and _only_ sometimes—her big sister was kind of okay.

 _“Ah,”_ said one of the twins. (Dawn couldn’t tell them apart with her eyes closed. Or open, come to think of it.)

“Oh dear,” said the other twin.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a sharp, mom-like voice said, _“So,”_ in the same kind of voice Mom used when she found Dawn sneaking a cookie.

“Morning, Mum,” said one of the twins.

“ _Have you any idea,”_ said the voice, _“how worried I’ve been?”_

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to—”

“And why on _earth_ are the _Summers girls_ with you?”

“I, uh,” Buffy sounded a little nervous, “I wanted to make sure Harry was okay—”

“And you brought your _seven-year-old sister?”_

Dawn opened her eyes, looking curiously up at the redheaded lady. She recognized her from the pool party. “You’re Ron’s mom, right?” she said with a yawn. “Can I go to sleep now? I’m _tired.”_

“She _made_ me bring her,” Buffy explained, “she said she’d tell my mom I was sneaking out—”

 _“Shh!”_ said Ron, sounding somewhat panicked.

Then Ron’s mom started yelling at all of them. Dawn didn’t really care. All of this wizard stuff was for _Buffy,_ so it stood to reason that the yelling was for Buffy too. Closing her eyes again, she cuddled into Buffy’s arms.

 _“Dawnie,”_ Buffy whispered into her hair, “you’re _heavy!_ I need to put you _down—”_

“Oh, for heaven’s _sake,”_ said Ron’s mom, and took Dawn from Buffy. Dawn pulled her head up to blink at Ron’s mom, who gave her a _look_ and said, “Now _you’re_ young enough not to know better, but the _REST OF YOU—”_ and then launched back into yelling at the rest of them. Dawn decided to go back to sleep.

* * *

Buffy decided to add “napped through absolutely _all_ of Mrs. Weasley yelling at everyone but her” to her long list of reasons why Dawn Summers was the worst little sister on the face of the earth— _especially_ given how sleepily angelic Dawn looked as she hugged her giant stuffed turtle in Mrs. Weasley’s arms. And _especially_ when Mrs. Weasley made them all do _chores_ after breakfast while she sent an owl to Buffy’s mom to explain the situation. Buffy _hated_ chores. She wanted to get some _sleep._

Harry seemed to be in a good mood, though. When Buffy asked him about it, he just grinned a little shyly and said, “It’s really nice to be outside,” which strengthened Buffy’s resolve to come up with a really inventive way to get revenge on the Dursleys. Nobody locked _her_ friend in a jail cell of a bedroom if _she_ had anything to say about it—and she bet that Willow would say the same. Probably Ron too, if she asked, but this kind of thing would make Willow _so_ mad.

After the de-gnoming, Buffy went up to Ginny’s room to drop her things off. Dawn was asleep on Mrs. Weasley’s couch downstairs, and besides which _she_ wasn’t staying over—Buffy’s mom was coming to pick Dawn up as soon as she could, though she _was_ letting Buffy stay with the Weasleys—so Buffy also got a break from little-sister drama about who got the extra bed Mrs. Weasley had set up. Thank goodness.

When Buffy stepped inside Ginny’s room, Ginny was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking unusually nervous and pensive. At the pool party, she’d been just as loud and chatty as the rest of the Weasleys—but now she was shrinking inward, looking much smaller than an eleven-year-old usually did. “Are you okay?” Buffy asked tentatively, setting her backpack down on the floor by the foot of Ginny’s bed.

“…” said Ginny, biting her lip.

“You can talk to me about it if you want,” Buffy suggested.

Ginny looked down at her hands.

Buffy sat down next to Ginny, feeling kind of out of her element—and also _way_ too tired to start a conversation about feelings—but knowing that if there was something she could do to help, she definitely wanted to do it. “Were you, uh, worried about your brothers?” she hedged.

Ginny huffed. _“Please._ One time Fred fell off the _roof_ and he was fine.”

Buffy snickered. “I wish I’d seen _that,”_ she said.

“Dawn says you have a _crush_ on Fred,” said Ginny. (Buffy scowled. Stupid Dawn.) “I think I should tell you that that’s a _terrible_ idea. He’s _so_ annoying and he’ll probably never let you use his broomstick for Quidditch. He never lets _me.”_

“Fred has a _broomstick?”_ said Buffy with interest. “Do all of you have broomsticks? I left mine at home—”

Ginny grinned. “I know how to break into the family broom shed,” she said. “D’you want to go flying tonight?”

 _“Yes,”_ said Buffy.

Ginny’s grin widened. “I _never_ have anyone to fly with!” she said happily. “That’s so _nice_ of you!”

Buffy beamed. “Of course!” she said. “Who’s your favorite team?”

“The _Harpies,”_ said Ginny proudly. “I’m going to play for them someday.”

“That’s _so_ cool,” said Buffy, deciding that Quidditch talk was _way_ easier than feelings talk. Normally, she’d ask more about Ginny looking all shy and weird—but right now, she was _exhausted,_ and she just wanted to talk about pretty ladies on broomsticks. “I read an article in the _Prophet_ about the Harpies! They came in sixth in the league last year, right?”

“Higher than Ron’s team,” said Ginny with a wicked smile.

Buffy didn’t know what Ron was complaining about. If _she_ had a little sister this cool, she’d _never_ complain. Just as she was opening her mouth to express this to Ginny, she heard a tapping on the windowsill—and when she turned, her face lit up. _“Morgana!”_

“Oh, that’s Willow’s owl!” said Ginny with delight. “She’s such a sweetheart. Here—” Digging in her bedside table, she fished out a tin of owl treats. “Open the window and give her some of these!”

Buffy took the tin from Ginny, holding it in one hand as she opened the window with the other. Morgana perched on the windowsill, then ducked her head a little to reveal that Willow’s letter was addressed to _Buffy Summers._

“Wow, you’re a smart owl,” said Buffy. “I just got here an hour ago!”

Morgana preened.

Tugging the letter free, Buffy opened the tin, setting it down next to Morgana (who clicked her beak approvingly before beginning to eat) before pulling open Willow’s letter.

* * *

_Buffy,_

_I told Morgana to go to the Burrow because I have a feeling you’re going to go through with your really concerning and definitely illegal plan. I know Hermione probably already told you this, but your plan definitely constitutes a risk of breaching the Statute of Secrecy, and you could get Mr. Weasley in a lot of trouble! I hope Morgana doesn’t find you at the Burrow, but if she does, imagine me making a very, very disapproving face._

_That said, I really do hope your plan works! I haven’t heard a thing from Harry all summer, and that seems extra weird. Obviously I’d recommend talking to an adult first, but no matter what you end up doing, I really hope it ends up with Harry safe and okay. So…good luck, kind of? But also I kind of don’t think you should be doing this. But also I hope it works!_

_Love,_

_Willow_

* * *

Buffy smiled affectionately at the letter. Willow worried too much. Everything had turned out one hundred percent fine! Well, you know, besides the parental yell-fest—but Buffy had been pretty prepared for that one, and was already preparing herself for the talking-to her mom and dad would likely give her. An explanation would definitely help Willow understand why the whole flying car thing had been necessary.

“Ginny,” said Buffy, “can I borrow a pen and paper?”

“You mean a quill?” asked Ginny curiously.

Buffy pulled a face. “Ugh,” she said. “No offense, but pens are _way_ easier to use.”

“…pens?”

“Oh, _wait!”_ With a laugh, Buffy hurried over to her backpack, fishing out her pencil case from fifth grade. Opening it up, she took out a pen, then handed another to Ginny. “Pens,” she said. “Try one!”

In return, Ginny handed her a piece of fresh parchment before uncapping the pen. “Oh, _wicked!”_ she said, the same way Ron did when he thought something was _really_ cool, and proceeded to start scribbling directly on the wood of her desk.

“…you do know that doesn’t come out, right?”

“Who _cares,”_ said Ginny. “It was Bill’s desk before mine, anyway.”

With a shrug, Buffy began to pen a reply to Willow.

* * *

_Hi Willow!_

_Do you know any good curses? Harry’s aunt and uncle had him LOCKED UP and they were STARVING him and they weren’t going to EVER let him out and I don’t think we should let him go back there next semester. I think we should tell Professor Giles when we get back to school, because I bet he’ll know what to do and who to talk to and stuff._

_Don’t worry, though! I have some good news. Harry’s okay!!!!! We got him out safely. Mrs. Weasley yelled at me a LOT and my mom wrote back through the owl to yell at me too and tell me I’m gonna be big-time grounded for doing something so stupid. BUT I get to stay at Ron’s house for the rest of the summer!_

_My parents are picking Dawn up, too, which is a totally good thing because literally everything that went wrong about rescuing Harry was one hundred percent Dawn’s fault. Little sisters are the worst. She basically blackmailed Ron and Fred and George into taking her with them—SO annoying. She’s asleep right now, because Mrs. Weasley didn’t make her help with de-gnoming the garden. By the way, gnomes are the WORST. How come all the gnomes I see at Target look all friendly and then real gnomes look like THAT?_

_I’m probably going to take a really long nap after writing this letter, so if you want to write anyone who might be worried about Harry, definitely do that! I bet a lot of people are._

_Buffy_

* * *

Willow’s reply came back surprisingly quickly. Just before dinner, Morgana showed up at Ginny’s bedroom window again.

“At this rate,” said Ginny, “I shall have to invest in a _lot_ of owl treats.”

"You know you _could_ just give Morgana less treats, right?" Buffy pointed out.

"I'm not a _monster!"_ said Ginny reprovingly, and went back to scratching the top of a pleased Morgana's head.

* * *

_Buffy—_

_You’re definitely right that Harry needs to get out of there. That sounds awful! My parents have a lot of connections at the Ministry if talking to Professor Giles doesn’t work out._

_I’ll write everyone that Harry’s safe. I’m sure they’ll be really glad to hear it._

_Love,_

_Willow_

* * *

Harry was heading towards the kitchen when Buffy and Ginny headed down the stairs, at which point Ginny attempted to first hide behind Buffy and then dart back up the stairs. Neither of these maneuvers worked, because Mrs. Weasley saw them both on the staircase and said, “Buffy, Ginny, do come down for dinner! It’ll get cold,” to which Ginny responded by making a miserable little noise and hiding her face in Buffy’s side.

This did not at all fit with the girl who had been scribbling on her desk and chattering about the Holyhead Harpies. “Ginny,” said Buffy, lowering her voice so that no one could hear, “are you okay?”

“…” said Ginny into Buffy’s t-shirt.

“Ginny?”

Ginny raised her head, looking genuinely distraught, and said, “I _can’t_ talk about it, it’s _embarrassing!”_

“Oo-kay,” said Buffy, patting Ginny on the head. “Can we go down and get dinner?”

Ginny let out a defeated moan that probably would’ve been more appropriate if Buffy had forced her to walk over hot coals, said, _“Fine,”_ and sulkily followed Buffy into the kitchen.

“Harry, Willow’s telling everyone that you’re okay!” said Buffy. “So you don’t have to worry about everyone being worried about you. ‘Cause for the record? _Everyone_ was. Xander says Professor Giles was seriously considering calling the Ministry or Dumbledore or both.”

“Oh, _Professor Giles,”_ said Mrs. Weasley fondly. “I’d forgotten Rupert took that teaching position after the war. How is he doing?”

 _“Rupert?”_ Ron repeated, and started laughing. “Professor Giles’s first name is _Rupert?”_

“Laugh it up, _Ronald,”_ said Buffy. That shut Ron up. “Professor Giles is doing _really_ well, Mrs. Weasley! He fixed my broken bones _so_ many times.”

Mrs. Weasley turned around to give Buffy another assessing look. Whatever she saw seemed to unnerve her a little, because she let out a sigh and said, “I see I’ll have to keep an eye on _you,_ won’t I.” Then she ruffled Buffy’s hair with one hand and used the other to wave her wand; the casserole dish landed neatly in the middle of the kitchen table. “Ginny dear, are you all right?”

“…” said Ginny, hiding behind a curtain of red hair.

“Ginny’s favorite team is the Harpies!” said Buffy, giving Ginny an encouraging nudge. “They came sixth in the league! Ron, didn’t you say that the Cannons came _ninth?”_

“I will throw my helping of casserole at you if you say a _single_ awful thing about the Cannons,” Ron threatened, pointing his fork at Buffy.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, you will do _no such thing!”_ said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly.

“The Cannons are ninth in the league!” said Buffy innocently. “That’s not _awful,_ that’s just _facts!”_

“No, but the way you’re _saying_ it—”

“I’m beginning to understand why my son gets on with you,” said Mrs. Weasley, who sounded somewhere between resignation and laughter. Buffy stuck her tongue out at Ron, who stuck his tongue out right back. (Harry rolled his eyes with a small smile and served himself some casserole.)


	3. the ducklings go back-to-school shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seeing as it's come up in reviews a lot, i'll say here that i have come up with reasons as to why the scoobies are not attending the american equivalent to hogwarts, and most of those reasons will be addressed in a later chapter.

Tara loved Miss Kitty Fantastico more than she’d ever gotten to love anything in the world. She’d never asked her mother for a pet; she knew that if she got a big, loud puppy, it would be Donny’s puppy within the first hour of her having it, and anything small and quiet would get badly hurt in that house. Donny had always loved training his owl to attack mice, and her father had always encouraged him; a cat would probably go through similar mistreatment.

But Miss Kitty was tiny, and when she chewed on the curtains or shredded Professor McGonagall’s important documents, Professor McGonagall would just scoop her up, hand her back to Tara, and say with some resignation, “She doesn’t know any better, so _do_ try and keep her out of harm’s way.” Miss Kitty was never, _ever_ in any danger around Professor McGonagall. Probably the opposite. One time, Tara had come into Professor McGonagall’s office to find Miss Kitty curled up against a larger tabby cat, both of them napping in the sun.

Miss Kitty’s favorite person was Tara, though. Everyone knew this. Miss Kitty liked Professor McGonagall largely because she very clearly counted Professor McGonagall as a mama kitty (Tara privately thought that this was a fairly adequate assessment of the situation), but she refused to let anyone else pet her unless it was clear that Tara liked them. She’d tried to bite Professor Snape upwards of eight times, stopped only by Tara yanking her back—which was more out of a desire to protect Miss Kitty than to keep Professor Snape from being bitten. Tara didn’t care _what_ Professor Dumbledore said: she’d seen Neville Longbottom in tears after a class with Snape. Anyone who made kids cry for no reason was nothing but a big bully, and Tara didn’t like bullies at _all._

And on that topic—

“I got a letter from Willow today,” said Tara suddenly, remembering that she hadn’t told Professor McGonagall _just_ yet. “She says—”

“That Mr. Potter has been removed from his _situation?”_ There was an ice-cold note to Professor McGonagall’s voice. “I’m aware. Miss Rosenberg wrote to myself and Professor Giles as well.” She scratched Miss Kitty’s ears. “Tara,” she said, and Tara blushed, smiling (Professor McGonagall had started calling her _Tara_ a few weeks after summer had started, and it made her feel _extra_ special), “did _you_ know that Harry Potter is living with abusive relatives?”

Tara’s smile flickered. Hesitantly, she said, “I-I didn’t want to upset him by telling someone without asking him first.”

“With a situation like the one Miss Rosenberg described,” said Professor McGonagall, “it is _imperative_ that you tell an adult. If all of you were genuinely concerned that Harry might have been badly hurt by his relatives, that in itself is clear evidence that outside intervention is needed.”

Ashamed, Tara ducked her head. “I-I’m sorry.”

Professor McGonagall’s face softened. “Tara, I’m not mad at _you,”_ she said. “You didn’t know any better. I sincerely hope that you and your friends are never placed in such a position again. I merely wanted to clarify this: if a student— _any_ student—is in any kind of danger, and you know something about it, go to a faculty member that you trust and explain the situation.”

“O-okay,” Tara mumbled, staring at her hands.

Carefully, Professor McGonagall picked up Miss Kitty from her lap, handing her back to Tara. Unusually tentative, she said, “Tara. You _do_ know that you will not be disciplined or blamed for an unintentional error that came from a good place?”

Tara hid her face in Miss Kitty’s fur.

This was what Tara liked _so_ much about Professor McGonagall, though: Professor McGonagall understood really well that some days were harder than other days for Tara, and that it wasn’t anyone’s fault outside of Tara’s father and brother. Clearing her throat the way she did before a lesson, Professor McGonagall said, “Would you like me to read from the _Encyclopedia of Magical Zoology?”_

Without raising her head, Tara nodded. Though she couldn’t _see_ Professor McGonagall pulling herself up from the chair and getting the heavy book out, she could plainly hear the corresponding sounds, which made her smile a little into Miss Kitty’s fur. Miss Kitty purred, snuggling closer to Tara.

“Where were we? I marked our page, but—”

 _“Crup,”_ said Tara, raising her head.

“Ah, yes.” Professor McGonagall scanned the pages until she found the entry they’d stopped on. _“Crup._ Bred by wizards in the year 1187—”

With a small smile, Tara cuddled further into the chair, watching Professor McGonagall read.

* * *

Rupert Giles was at his wits’ end. _Seven_ meetings with Professor Dumbledore, _five_ of them with Professor Dumbledore _and_ the _Minister of Magic,_ and every single time, Dumbledore had flatly refused to remove Harry from his aunt and uncle’s care, also refusing to explain why. Giles had brought up the clear signs of Harry’s abuse, the fact that his school friends were worried sick about him, the fact that Minerva McGonagall and Anya Jenkins were _both_ vouching for Giles’s testimony—but Dumbledore had _insisted_ that it was absolutely necessary for Harry to remain with the Dursleys for at least a fraction of every summer, and Fudge had awkwardly added that the way Muggle parents treated their children didn’t fall under Ministry jurisdiction. By this point, Giles was beginning to consider anarchy a much more tasteful concept than his repeated attempts at diplomacy. He was making about as much progress getting Harry out of that house as he would if he’d just spent the last two months banging his head against a wall.

Ron, apparently, had stolen his father’s flying car and physically broken Harry out of the house. Perhaps at the beginning of the summer, Giles might have had the energy to be both outraged and worried, but at this point, he was just glad that Harry was safe for at least the next few weeks. The boy still had five more summers there, though—and damned if Giles would let Albus’s non-answers stop him from keeping a child safe.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. There was only one person Giles could think of who might be up to the task of going toe-to-toe with Dumbledore and the Ministry—and who might be able to win Harry his safety.

* * *

“Remus?”

“Mm?”

“I got a letter.”

Remus looked up from his newspaper. His wife was smiling tightly down at a piece of parchment, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “…all right,” said Remus, who had seen this expression on Jenny’s face very, _very_ many times. The last time this had happened had been a little Squib girl writing to Jenny and asking if Jenny would please, _please_ get the Ministry to let her go to Hogwarts, because she so _badly_ wanted to learn magic and hated being broken. Jenny was particularly sensitive to issues with children and their parents. “What did the letter say, dear?”

Jenny pushed the letter across the table. “This one,” she said, still in that thin, sharp voice, “I think _you’re_ gonna be pretty mad about too.”

* * *

_Ms. Calendar,_

_My name is Rupert Giles, and I am the current History of Magic professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have always admired your dedication to helping those who have been most deeply hurt by the inherent prejudice in the customs of our wizarding community, and I believe that the situation I am bringing to your attention may be one such example of someone who needs your help._

_As you may or may not know, Harry Potter began attending Hogwarts last year. The name carries a lot of weight in our world, but as someone who has known Harry for about a year, I can say with certainty that he is a perfectly normal and perfectly delightful eleven-year-old boy. He loves his classes, he loves his friends, and he loves the wizarding world—but it is failing him entirely._

_Eleven years ago, Harry was left with his aunt and uncle, who have treated him nothing short of abominably. From anecdotes that Harry has told his classmates and myself, I have pieced together that the boy is being physically, verbally, and emotionally abused by his aunt and uncle. Most recently, his aunt and uncle locked him in his room and limited his food intake when they found out that he would not be able to use magic to free himself. A group of his friends were thankfully able to rescue him from this situation, but their anxiety for their friend caused them to use more immediate and definitely illegal magical means. They are in quite a lot of trouble with their parents, but luckily, the Ministry has turned a blind eye to their antics._

_Not so luckily, the Ministry is also turning a blind eye to Harry’s situation. I have met multiple times with Professor Albus Dumbledore over the summer, presenting to him the same evidence I now present to you. Professor Dumbledore maintains that it is of the utmost importance that Harry remain with his biological family, and Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge states that the Ministry cannot involve itself in the way Muggle parents treat their children._

_Under no circumstances would I call Vernon and Petunia Dursley “parents.”_

_If this is something that you can help with, please, please respond as soon as you can. I have been trying for months to come up with a legal solution to this problem, but no one within the Ministry seems willing or able to assist me._

_Thank you for your time,_

_Professor Rupert Giles_

* * *

Remus stared at the letter for a very long time after he had read it. Then, slowly, he reached across the table to place his hand over Jenny’s.

“That’s Lily’s _kid,”_ said Jenny. Her voice broke. “That’s her _baby._ Do you remember how little he was?”

“Yes,” said Remus. He could barely speak.

“He used to—you know I kept my hair long during wartime,” said Jenny shakily. “I a-always had to put it up in a bun when I went to go spend time with Lily, because Harry would _pull_ on it. All this time, I thought at least Harry was safe with family, but—”

“Jenny.”

“We have to help them,” said Jenny. That furious anger was still glittering in her eyes. “We—I’m so glad Professor Giles contacted me, because he came to the right fucking people. We can head over to Hogwarts, meet with Professor Giles, schedule something with Dumbledore and Fudge—”

Remus’s stomach turned. “Jenny—” He hesitated. “I don’t know if I can help with this one.”

“…what?”

“There’s still—” Remus exhaled. “I won’t downplay the work we’ve done,” he said. “Werewolves are able to access the Wolfsbane Potion and get decently-paying jobs much more easily because of the LSO, and that’s not—that’s not nothing. But Cornelius Fudge has never looked at me as a _man,_ and I fear that I will jeopardize Harry’s situation if I am a visible part of these negotiations.”

Jenny’s face twisted. “You know what?” she said. “Change of plans. I just go and murder Fudge, then I kill Dumbledore, _then_ I—”

Standing up, Remus crossed to the other side of the table, wrapping his arms around Jenny’s shoulders. She let out a sobbing breath. “I know you’re scared,” he said softly. “This is horrible news to receive, and I know the _last_ thing you want to do is stand still for even a second longer, but Harry is safe right now and will remain safe until final exams next year. We have time to come up with a long-term plan.”

“A long-term plan,” Jenny echoed shakily. “Okay.”

“I can write a letter back to Professor Giles, if you like,” Remus suggested. “Tell him that you and I will be doing some research on both Muggle and wizard law for Harry’s sake. Perhaps we can schedule a meeting for…” He trailed off. “October?”

“A Halloween trip up to Hogwarts,” said Jenny wistfully. “That’d be nice.”

Remus hesitated. “I wouldn’t be coming with you,” he began.

“Shut _up,”_ said Jenny, snuggling her head against his chest. “You’re gonna come with me, and you’re gonna _like it.”_

“Jenny—”

“Even if you can’t meet with Professor Giles, you _can_ go shopping with me in Hogsmeade,” Jenny countered.

“Jenny, I don’t particularly _like_ Hogsmeade,” said Remus.

“You just don’t like the Shrieking Shack!” Jenny moved her chair back a little, standing up and stepping towards Remus to drape her arms around his neck. “Which I _completely_ understand and respect, obviously, but I know nine different ways to walk through Hogsmeade without ever having to pass it.”

“Jenny…” But Remus could already feel himself caving.

“C’mon,” Jenny wheedled, smiling up at him. “How long has it been since we’ve had a little fun couple time together?”

“I doubt that _anyone_ could call a trip under these circumstances _fun couple time,”_ Remus pointed out.

“Well, it’s better than me immolating Cornelius Fudge,” Jenny pointed out. “I’m trying to channel my murder-y energy into…” She considered. “I don’t know. Sex.”

“For Merlin’s sake,” said Remus, and kissed her.

Jenny laughed against his mouth, pulling back. “That is _not_ an answer!”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Spell it _yes, Jenny, you’re always right about everything, I’m a total workaholic, and I need a vacation.”_

“You _literally_ got a work-related letter during our _summer holidays._ If _anyone’s_ a workaholic here—” Remus was cut off as Jenny kissed him again. Laughing, he pulled away. “All right, all right, _yes!_ I _won’t_ go meet with Fudge, though, I’ll be humiliated.”

A shadow crossed Jenny’s face. “I hate that it’s just a _fact_ that any high-up at the Ministry is gonna treat you like garbage.”

“Arthur Weasley is always very kind—”

“Arthur Weasley is living in poverty with his kids. Anyone good in this system is getting fucked over.”

“That’s why you’re saving the world, hmm?” Remus kissed the top of Jenny’s head. “Making things better for the next generation.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, snuggling into his arms. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

_Professor Giles,_

_I apologize that this response does not come from Jenny herself. Upon receiving your letter, my wife became so thoroughly enraged at the situation that she still finds herself unable to put quill to paper and write a response more professional than profane. I am summarizing her incensed tirades here—_

* * *

“You are _not_ sending that to him!” Jenny tackled a laughing Remus to the bed, wrestling him for the letter. The ink pot spilled all over the bed. This was a fairly regular occurrence in the Calendar-Lupin household. “Give me that quill!”

It was a good few hours before the actual letter was drafted.

* * *

_Professor Giles,_

_Jenny and I were deeply grateful to receive your letter. Such a gross miscarriage of justice should never be overlooked, and it seems as though higher authorities are doing just that. As I am sure you are aware, Jenny has dedicated most of her life to fighting against situations exactly like the one you have written us about, and I have done much the same. We would be delighted to help out in any capacity._

_Seeing as Harry is currently safe and well, Jenny has suggested that she come up to Hogwarts during the school year and meet you in person to discuss further strategies. She would like to use the next few months to research potential ways to legally remove Harry from his aunt and uncle’s custody. If you are so inclined—and seeing as you are much closer to Dumbledore than us, geographically speaking—we would deeply appreciate if you question Dumbledore further about his motives for making sure Harry stays with the Dursleys. I’d recommend abstaining from arguing for Harry’s cause; rather, frame it as your acceptance of his decision so long as he answers your follow-up questions._

_Again, thank you very much for writing us. The situation is of course disturbing and terrible enough for any child to be in, but Jenny and I were both very close to Harry’s parents in school. Hearing that their son is being so greatly mistreated…well, suffice it to say that we will not rest until Harry is guaranteed a safe home._

_Regards,_

_Remus Lupin_

* * *

“So that’s _good_ news, right?” said Xander. “You’re always saying that no one’s more capable than Jenny Calendar.”

“Kindly don’t repeat that in front of her, Xander,” said Giles, who looked weirdly flustered. “That is—when she comes, I’d like to treat her with the utmost professionalism. I shouldn’t like her to think of me as—”

“The kind of guy who has all her articles in a shoebox in his kitchen cabinet?”

“Precisely.” Giles blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I was putting away the cat food up high so Spaghetti wouldn’t break into it again,” said Xander sheepishly, “and then I knocked _everything_ over, and all the articles spilled out—”

“How on earth did I miss this?”

“You were asleep.”

“What _time_ was this?”

 _“Anyway,”_ said Xander, “Harry’s going to be okay, right? Now that you and Jenny Calendar are on the case?”

“Of course, Xander,” said Giles, but he didn’t sound a hundred percent sure about that.

Xander wasn’t too worried, though. Even if Giles and Jenny Calendar _couldn’t_ get Harry away from the Dursleys, Ron and Buffy had proven this summer that _they_ could. No way was Harry going to be stuck in his room for too long without anyone noticing. Petting Spaghetti (who was sitting atop the dining room table), he focused in on his Transfiguration homework.

“Heya, Rupert,” said Professor Jenkins, breezing in to hand Giles an enormous box of files. “Minerva wanted me to bring these over to you. She got her hands on all the documented cases of parental abuse in Hogwarts, just in case we need proof that the school _does_ intervene in serious instances.”

“Do we _have_ proof that the school intervenes?”

“…yeah, that’s where it gets dicey,” said Professor Jenkins with a wince. “Minerva hasn’t actually read any of these yet.”

“And she sent them all to _me?”_

“Are you kidding? Hogwarts has been open for centuries. Minerva split up the documentation into thirds.”

“ _Thirds,”_ Giles repeated, and gave Professor Jenkins a soft, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Anya, for _all_ of your assistance.”

“Oh, _whatever,”_ said Professor Jenkins, but she was smiling a little too. “Hello, Xander. Is that your new cat?”

“Her name’s Spaghetti,” said Xander proudly.

“God, that’s a weird name,” said Professor Jenkins, leaning down to scratch Spaghetti’s ears. “Good kitty! Keep Xander safe, okay?”

“I’m keeping _her_ safe, Professor Jenkins!” Xander informed Professor Jenkins indignantly. “She’s _tiny!”_

“I don’t know,” said Professor Jenkins, tapping her finger against her chin. “You two look the same size to me.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Anya, don’t antagonize the boy,” said Professor Giles, shooing Professor Jenkins out of the dining room. “Give me a moment and I’ll join you,” he called after her, then leaned back over towards Xander. “Let me know if you need any help with that, all right?”

“Okay,” said Xander, grinning up at him. “Thanks, Giles.”

Giles hovered for another moment, giving Xander that small, awkward, weirdly proud little smile that always made Xander feel—well. The opposite of when his dad said he was worthless and his mom said he should be trying harder. Then Giles headed after Professor Jenkins, calling, “Anya, if you touch _any_ of my expensive artifacts—”

“These would go for so much money in Knockturn Alley and you’re just _leaving_ them here?”

“I _collect_ them! And what are _you_ doing in Knockturn Alley if you know how much _black-market dealers_ would charge for various artifacts?”

Snickering, Xander went back to his homework.

* * *

Because Professor McGonagall was the Deputy Headmistress, she couldn’t really leave the school a week before things started up just to help Tara get her school supplies. Professor Giles, however, was already taking Xander, so he just took Tara with him—and Tara took Miss Kitty Fantastico, who perched on her shoulder and meowed endlessly in her ear.

“Is it okay if we try and find Willow?” Tara asked Professor Giles when they reached Diagon Alley. “And Harry and Hermione and Ron and Buffy? They said they’d be here today too, is it okay if—”

“Of course!” said Professor Giles, sounding honestly surprised by the question. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Hagrid picked up Faith to buy her a second round of supplies for this year.”

“Oh, _nice!”_ said Xander. “The gang’s back together.”

“I’m still sad I missed that pool party,” said Tara wistfully.

“Yeah, Ron said Buffy did a kick-flip cannonball bonanza into the pool!” said Xander enthusiastically.

“…Hermione said that it was just a really hard belly flop,” said Tara, frowning.

Professor Giles buried his face in his hands.

_“Tara!”_

Before Tara realized what was happening, she was all but tackled in a warm hug. Miss Kitty _yelped,_ and then—jumped _straight_ to the hugger’s shoulder, nuzzling up against her. Pulling back a little, Tara _beamed._ “Willow!” she said. “Miss Kitty _likes_ you! She doesn’t like _anybody_ but me and Professor McGonagall!”

“And me, right?” said Xander from behind Tara. Tara decided to pretend she hadn’t heard him for his own sake.

“Oh my _gosh,_ this is Miss Kitty?” Willow pulled back from the hug to gently tug Miss Kitty off her shoulder and into a little mini-kitten hug. “Hi, baby! You’re so small! And _so_ fuzzy!”

“She’s very fuzzy,” Tara agreed, glancing around. “Where are your parents?”

“They gave me enough money for my supplies,” said Willow a little uncomfortably, “and then they had—you know, work.”

“…oh,” said Tara. “Well—”

 _“EEEE,”_ shrieked a voice, and Willow and Tara were tackle-hugged by a delighted blonde blur. “IT’S TARA!!!!!”

“Buffy, _careful!”_ Hermione reprimanded, hurrying to catch up. “You’ll knock them into the cobblestones. Hello, Professor Giles! Can I turn in my essay right now or should I wait until—”

“No, you can wait until class, Hermione,” said Professor Giles, smiling appreciatively. “Though I must applaud your genuinely terrifying work ethic.”

“Thank you!” said Hermione, beaming.

Just then, Ron and an oddly sooty Harry rounded the corner. “Buffy,” Ron was panting, “can you—not just— _run off—_ when you see—someone who you _think_ is Tara?” He blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, it _is_ Tara.” A broad grin spread across his face. “Tara _and_ Xander. Brilliant!”

Tara, however, quietly extricated herself from the hug, weaving herself through friends and parents to reach Harry. Without a word, she pulled him into a fierce hug—and it was a mark of the fact that they _understood_ each other that Harry didn’t try and say he was fine. He just hugged her back. “Hi,” she whispered shakily.

“Hi,” Harry whispered back.

Tara pulled back a little, smoothing down his hair. “Professor McGonagall and Professor Giles are going to make sure you don’t have to go back there next summer,” she said. “Also I think Professor Giles wrote to Jenny Calendar—”

“Oh, they don’t have to make a _production_ out of it,” Harry mumbled sheepishly. “It’s—”

“You _know_ it’s not fine,” said Tara. “You _know_ that.”

Harry swallowed, looking up at Tara with exhausted green eyes. “But it _should be,”_ he said almost helplessly.

Tara nodded. Then, because this was a hard, heavy conversation with no good resolution (not _yet,_ she reminded herself), she said, “Do you want to see my kitten?”

Harry gave her a shy, lopsided smile. “You sent me a picture of her, didn’t you?” he said. “Sorry I didn’t get it. Or write back about it.”

“Willow said…a house-elf was stealing your letters?”

“Well, yeah—”

“So it’s not _really_ your fault, is it?” Tara countered.

“Well. No.”

“So don’t apologize.” Tara dusted some of the soot off of Harry’s robes. “It’s good to see you.”

Harry’s smile widened. “You too,” he said, and hugged her again. “Now _can_ I see your cat?”

* * *

They ended up meeting with Faith at Florean Fortescue’s; Hagrid was buying her an ice cream. When she saw them all, her entire face lit up in a smile so big and happy that it almost didn’t look like Faith at all. Without a word, she ran forward—then stopped, awkwardly, and scuffed her shoes on the tiled floor of the ice cream parlor. “So, uh, hey,” she said. “Or whatever.”

“You’re _ridiculous,”_ said Hermione, and gave her a hug. Faith squirmed around like an angry cat for a few seconds before letting Hermione hug her. “How was your summer?”

“I broke Stacey’s kneecap,” said Faith proudly.

“…oh,” said Hermione worriedly.

 _“Cool!”_ said Buffy.

“At this point,” said Professor Giles to Hagrid, “I seriously debate the wisdom of letting any of them out of my sight for longer than two seconds.”

“Anya was right,” said Hagrid with a chuckle. “Mama duck if I ever saw one.”

“Oh, for—” said Professor Giles indignantly.

“Why did you break Stacey’s kneecap?” asked Willow curiously.

“She probably deserved it,” said Ron, bumping Faith’s shoulder.

“She tried to take—uh,” said Faith, and glanced nervously at Buffy before mumbling something that no one could make out.

“What?”

“…my unicorn,” Faith said again, barely audible. “The one Buffy gave me.”

“So you broke her _kneecap?”_ said Hermione doubtfully. “Is that proportionate retribution?”

“No, I think Stacey deserved it,” Ron said. “If someone tried to take Scabbers, I’d break _their_ kneecap.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” said Hermione, at the same time that Buffy said, “You know what, good point.” Then they exchanged an extremely confused look.

“Giles?” said Xander, tugging on Professor Giles’s robes. “Ice cream, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, _ice cream!”_ said Ron.

“I can buy!” said Harry.

“Absolutely not, Harry,” said Professor Giles, patting his shoulder.

“But I _can—”_

“The entire point of having a steady income is the ability to buy children ice cream,” said Professor Giles firmly, shepherding all of them towards the counter.

“See, _this_ is why he’s my favorite professor,” Ron whispered to Faith and Xander, who both nodded in agreement. “Can you see _Snape_ buying us all ice cream?”

“Professor Snape would take points off of Slytherin before he bought a student ice cream,” said Tara primly. At her friends’ surprised looks, she raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s just—” Xander waved a hand. “You don’t say _anything_ bad about _anyone!”_

“I’ve been living at Hogwarts for three months,” Tara replied, “and if Snape isn’t going to be nice to students, then I don’t think students should have to be nice to him.”

“I don’t know if the school rules function that way,” Hermione attempted to point out, but the rest of her friends were nodding. With a resigned (and slightly amused) sigh, she began to examine the ice cream flavors.

* * *

Flourish and Blotts was more crowded than Willow had _ever_ seen it. A gaggle of witches at the door seemed to be all trying to push past each other to get inside the bookstore—which made a lot more sense once Willow noticed the big sign stretching across the windows on the second floor: _GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today, 12:30 – 4:30 pm._

“Oh, _lord,”_ said Professor Giles.

 _“Gilderoy Lockhart?”_ Buffy repeated. “Is that even a real name?”

“Gilderoy Lockhart,” said Xander, going a little pink, “is _so cool.”_

 _“Isn’t he?”_ said Hermione breathlessly.

Willow furrowed her brow. She’d met Gilderoy Lockhart a few times at event things her parents had taken her to over the summer, and every single time she met him, she became more and more curious as to how his books were so factually accurate. She certainly didn’t think very much of him as a person—he spent _way_ too much time talking about the kind of shampoo he used—but she _really_ wanted to figure him out. He was a mystery, and Willow _liked_ mysteries.

“I don’t think much of Gilderoy Lockhart,” Tara whispered to Willow as they pushed carefully through the crowds. “He doesn’t seem very _heroic,_ but he seems to _think_ that he is.”

“I _know!”_ said Willow. “It drives me insane!”

“Rupert, _there_ you are!” Professor Jenkins grabbed Professor Giles’s hand, using it to tow her through the other witches and over to the group. “You have to get my book signed.”

“Can’t you just get it signed when—I’m sorry _what?”_ said Professor Giles, pulling his hand away from Professor Jenkins’s with an expression of genuine horror on his face. “Anya, have you lost your _mind?”_

“He’s hot,” said Professor Jenkins, “and he is _definitely_ well-built, so—oh, wow, those are a _lot_ of twelve-year-olds following you around. Rupert, when are we going to be able to talk about my love life without the twelve-year-olds around?”

“If it will keep me from having to hear about Gilderoy Lockhart’s hair, then I will have a child with me at all times,” said Professor Giles.

“He _does_ have nice hair,” said Xander dreamily.

“Do not do this,” said Professor Giles to Xander. “Do not fall for a man based on his hair. I made that mistake in the early seventies and it haunts me to this day.”

“Aww, how _is_ Ethan?” said Professor Jenkins.

_“Stop.”_

The Weasleys were at the front of the line, so Harry, Ron, Hermione and Buffy hurried forward. Tara and Xander stayed with Professor Giles, who seemed to be in no hurry to get his book signed (or, even, to get a book at all), Faith stayed by Hagrid, and Willow stayed with Tara. “Faith,” she said, “what do _you_ think about Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“That dude looks like a Ken doll,” said Faith. “His hair probably weighs more than his brain.”

“Hmm,” said Willow, tilting her head as she observed Gilderoy Lockhart in action. She couldn’t really make him out very well through the crowd, but his thousand-watt smile didn’t seem to die down for even a second. “Do you think that maybe he’s a robot?”

“Beep boop,” said Tara in a robot voice. “Buy my books. Boop beep.”

Willow and Faith dissolved into giggles.

Abruptly, Gilderoy Lockhart leapt to his feet. His eyes were fixed on someone in the front row. Loudly and theatrically, he shouted, “It _can’t_ be Harry Potter?”

Willow and Faith immediately stopped giggling. “Oh _no,”_ said Tara, and before anyone could do anything, she’d already started pushing her way through the crowds to get to Harry.

“Oh, _lord,”_ said Professor Giles. “Xander, we need to go get Tara.”

“Okay!” said Xander, visibly perking up at the concept of getting to be closer to Gilderoy Lockhart, and let Professor Giles lead him through the crowds in Tara’s direction.

Willow, fascinated by the entire spectacle, decided to hang back. Lockhart was currently shaking Harry’s hand for a photographer from the _Daily Prophet,_ smiling hugely; Harry looked kind of like he wanted to drop dead on the spot. He tried to make an escape, but Lockhart grabbed him around the shoulders, turning towards the crowds, and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!”

“Wow,” said Faith. “Somehow, I hate him _more_ now that I’ve heard his voice.”

“Oh, yes, he’s a complete idiot,” Professor Jenkins agreed conversationally.

Willow blinked. “Wait. Don’t you like him?”

“No, sprout, I just think he’s extremely physically attractive,” said Professor Jenkins, patting Willow on the head. “When you’re older, you’ll likely understand that the two things don’t always have to go hand in hand.”

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today,” Lockhart continued, “he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge—”

There was another roar of applause. As Lockhart grinned for the cameras, Tara finally reached the crowd, tugging Harry deftly out from under Lockhart’s arm. A surge of _something_ ran through Willow as Tara’s straw-blond hair caught the lights of the cameras, and when she turned to face the crowd, she smiled—a sweet little half-smile—exactly in Willow’s direction.

Willow didn’t think it worked like Professor Jenkins said—not for her, at least. When _she_ liked someone, she always noticed how pretty they were.

“Oh my _god,”_ said Faith suddenly. “That dipshit’s gonna be _teaching_ us?”

 _That_ snapped Willow out of her haze. _“What?”_


	4. the professors address the flying car incident

The day that the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to arrive, Tara was commandeered by Professor McGonagall to help set up the Great Hall. Xander, however, managed to side-step the entire setting-up process with a few well-placed questions to Giles regarding a handful of specific Jenny Calendar shoebox articles, and ended up playing with Spaghetti for the three hours he probably _should_ have been helping drape banners. As such, he was extremely disappointed to find out that what Tara had _actually_ been doing was helping sample desserts in the kitchen to pick out which ones would be served after dinner.

 _“Well,”_ said Professor McGonagall upon seeing Xander’s crestfallen face, “what were _you_ doing? I’m sure it was _just_ as important.”

Tara, who (as always) had Miss Kitty perched on her shoulder, looked like she was trying not to laugh. For some reason, that cheered Xander up. A year away from her parents had created a marked change in the shy, scared first year that Xander had first met—and despite him playfully teasing her about her lack of a stammer, he was genuinely glad to see her doing so much better. “I was playing with Spaghetti on the floor,” he said truthfully.

“So in all honesty, Professor,” said Tara, “he was helping out _just_ as much as me, because I’m _sure_ the house-elves already had some desserts picked out.”

To Xander’s surprise, Professor McGonagall went a little pink. “Well,” she said. “That’s—”

“Why, Minerva,” said Professor Jenkins, grinning a little as she rounded the corner. “Were you trying to do something _nice_ for Tara and Xander?”

“Is that a federal crime?” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “I’m not _Severus,_ Anya.”

“No, there can only be one of _him,”_ said Giles somewhat tiredly. “I’m fairly certain he tried to talk Dumbledore down from letting Tara stay at Hogwarts over the summer. Something about _unfair advantages given to the Gryffindors.”_

“So let Willow stay over with me next summer!” said Tara hopefully. “That would make it even, wouldn’t it?”

“Oooh, _Willow,”_ Xander teased. Tara brought up Willow at _least_ once in every conversation they had.

 _“Mr._ Harris,” said Professor McGonagall, but instead of taking points from Hufflepuff or giving him a long lecture, she just kind of bopped his shoulder reprovingly with the piece of parchment she was holding. Three months at Hogwarts had nearly all the professors treating Xander and Tara a little differently—a little less like students. A little more like they were _supposed_ to be there.

“Xander, _do_ be nice to Tara,” Giles added. Tara had gone somewhat pink. “It’s perfectly normal to have feelings for—”

“Thank you, professors, but can we please talk about _anything else,”_ said Tara sweetly in a way that really wasn’t a question. “And Xander?” She dug in the pocket of her robes and fished out a small bundle of napkins, handing them to Xander with a shy smile. “Seeing as you missed out on the desserts—”

“Tara, don’t _encourage_ him,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is intended to be an _instructive moment—”_

“Yes, it is,” said Tara, pressing the napkin bundle into Xander’s hands. Xander unwrapped it, then _beamed;_ a handful of small, slightly squashed baked goods had been carefully wrapped within the napkins. “And Xander’s just now learned that friends look out for each other when nice things happen unexpectedly.”

Professor McGonagall looked both annoyed and proud.

“So,” Xander heard Professor Jenkins say in a low, amused whisper to Professor McGonagall, “how’s that search for a Ministry-appointed family going? Because _I’ve_ been hearing whispers that a witch in her mid-fifties has been asking Ministry officials if _she_ can adopt Tara. Nice lady, a little strict, head of Gryffindor House—”

“Oh, _shut_ up,” said Professor McGonagall, who was watching Tara feed a cat treat to Miss Kitty with a small smile.

* * *

Ron, Harry, and Buffy did not show up on the train.

“Should we be worried?” said Willow anxiously. “What if something bad happened to them? What if Harry got attacked by a Death Eater? What if—”

“You know, I feel like you already decided on an answer for your first question,” Faith pointed out.

“They’re likely fine,” said Hermione reasonably. “They’re sensible enough.”

 _“Are_ they?” said Willow. “They flew a _car_ to go get Harry out of his aunt and uncle’s house.”

Hermione’s unconcerned smile faltered. After a few seconds, she said, “…oh no.”

“If they fly the car to Hogwarts and _I_ have to take the train, I’m gonna be _so_ mad at them,” huffed Faith, falling back against the seat. “How come all of _you_ had cool pool party summers and I was stuck at the same boring orphanage?”

“You could stay with my family next year if you want!” Willow offered. “I asked my dad about it and he said it was okay. _And_ Buffy asked _her_ mom and _she_ said it was okay—”

“Yeah, but that’s if B doesn’t crash the flying car,” Faith pointed out.

“We don’t _know_ that they’re flying a car to Hogwarts,” said Hermione somewhat desperately. Then, “I _so_ hope they aren’t flying a car to Hogwarts.”

* * *

_“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE,”_ Buffy yelled out the window of the car, the wind blowing her hair out of its loose ponytail. She laughed, trying to catch the elastic—but it was already sailing away, and Harry had to pull her back before she fell all the way out the window. “Whoops!”

“Be _careful,_ Buffy!” said Harry, but he was grinning too as he handed her the bag of toffees. Buffy took a big handful. “And leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?”

“Shut _up,_ I’m _starving,”_ Buffy shot back, unwrapping two of the toffees and tossing them into her mouth. “Mm!”

“Can you imagine the looks on Fred and George’s stupid faces?” said Ron with relish. “They’ll _wish_ they’d thought of _this._ Everyone’ll be talking about us for _weeks.”_

“We’re the coolest Gryffindors ever,” said Buffy happily, leaning back to stretch out in the backseat. “Harry, do you think we’re the coolest Gryffindors ever?”

Harry got all quiet whenever he was _really_ happy, Buffy had noticed, and now was no exception; the soft, bright grin on his face reminded her a lot of Tara in that moment. Almost as though he could tell what she was thinking, he said, “Tara’s ten times as cool as us, but I think we come in at a close second.”

A strange expression crossed Ron’s face. Slowly, and almost warily, he said, “Harry, do you _like_ Tara?”

Harry looked bemused by the question. “She’s one of my best friends, of course I like her—”

“No, not like _that,”_ said Ron. “Like—” He cast around for an example, then came up with, “Like how my mum and dad like each other.”

Harry looked even _more_ bemused. “…no?” he said. “I just said she’s one of my best _friends._ I don’t like anyone like _that.”_

“You sure?”

“Course I’m sure!” said Harry. “Tara just _gets it.”_

“Gets what?” said Buffy curiously.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry said, “Gets how bad things were with the Dursleys.”

This didn’t seem like appropriate conversation for fluffy cloud fun times. Awkwardly, Buffy said, “Well, you’re not going to have to go back to the Dursleys, remember? Giles _promised_ you wouldn’t, and so did Professor McGonagall. And they don’t break their promises.”

The small smile returned, shy and tentative, to Harry’s face. Without a word, he settled himself a bit more comfortably into the passenger seat, looking out the window at the bright blue sky.

* * *

Xander and Tara were playing a game of Exploding Snap in Minerva’s office when she got the memo from Albus: _Emergency faculty/staff meeting to discuss flying car._ Minerva looked at the words _flying car,_ looked across the room at the not-very-secretive Tara and Xander (who had been talking in whispers about Ron Weasley’s turquoise Ford Anglia ever since Harry had been rescued from his aunt and uncle), thought about the recent conversation she’d had with one Rupert Giles (who had exhaustedly brought up Arthur Weasley’s flying Ford Anglia as something that twelve-year-olds should _not_ have access to), and resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. _Rupert was right about these children,_ she thought. _It’s almost as bad as the Marauders, trying to keep track of them all._

“Professor McGonagall, are you okay?” asked Tara anxiously, looking up from Exploding Snap with a heart-meltingly worried expression.

Reluctantly, Minerva tried to school her expression into something more neutral. It wouldn’t do to worry Tara; this wasn’t _her_ fault, after all. “Quite fine,” she said. “I’ve an unexpected faculty meeting to attend. The feast is in two hours, and if I am not there to walk you down—”

“We can make it on our own,” Tara reassured her.

“Excellent,” said Minerva, and left the room.

Halfway to the faculty room, Minerva fell into step with Rupert and Anya, who looked just as annoyed and resigned as she felt. “So,” Minerva said. “I feel it is reasonable to assume that Harry, Ron, and Buffy chose a more inventive means of transportation than the Hogwarts Express?”

 _“Inventive?_ Try _dangerous_ with a side helping of _illegal!”_ Anya burst out. “And for the record, why didn’t they ask _me_ to drive it?”

Rupert and Minerva exchanged a look. “Anya, that’s not what we’re upset about,” said Rupert.

“Rules, safety, _whatever,”_ said Anya impatiently, waving her hand. “We’ve already established that they’re too young to drive and should be appropriately punished. _I,_ however, am a grown-ass adult, and am therefore well within my rights to take a flying car on a responsible and marginally-illegal joyride.” She considered, then added, “What do you think Gilderoy Lockhart’s stance is on making out in a flying car? Do you think it would boost my chances of—”

 _“Please_ stop,” said Minerva.

“No, see, _my_ question,” said Rupert, who had always had a frustrating habit of encouraging Anya without intending to, “is how you can _possibly_ stand listening to that man talk long enough to remain attracted to him.”

“I figure I’ll just openly proposition him when we officially meet,” Anya explained. “That way I won’t _have_ to interact with him.”

“Anya—” said Minerva tiredly.

“It’s just been _too_ long since I’ve hooked up with a coworker, you know?” said Anya.

“What—that’s— _when did you hook up with a coworker?”_ spluttered Rupert. “Was it _here?”_

Anya gave Rupert a sly smile and didn’t say anything.

“As _thought-provoking_ as this conversation is,” said Minerva very loudly, and nodded towards the door to the faculty room.

“Oh!” said Rupert.

“Whoops,” said Anya.

Sometimes, when Minerva was with Rupert and Anya, it felt like she was keeping an eye on two more of her students. She supposed she _was,_ in a sense; she had taught them, after all, even if it had been a very long time ago. Anya had been a ridiculously headstrong Muggleborn Slytherin who had confused absolutely _everyone_ she’d met; Rupert had been a shy, awkward pureblood Ravenclaw who hadn’t seemed to know what to do with multiple generations of familial expectations. They’d grown up a lot since then, but bits and pieces of the children remained. It was a bizarre mixture of frustrating and sweet. “Shoo,” said Minerva, and opened the door, nudging both of them through before her.

Tensions in the room ran high. Anya and Rupert still looked exasperated, Filius and Pomona looked more concerned than anything, and Severus looked like he wanted to kill someone. Only Albus continued to give the room his usual benign smile. “That’s everyone, I think,” he said. “Now. As I mentioned in my memo, a flying car was spotted heading in the direction of Hogwarts. Given that Harry Potter was very recently broken out of his aunt and uncle’s by a flying car, I suspect that he, Ron Weasley, and Buffy Summers are the three students who have utilized it in lieu of the Hogwarts Express—though this is of course only a theory, and we shall have to wait and see whether they arrive at the feast.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” said Severus through gritted teeth, “this sort of thing merits expulsion at the very _least.”_

“Severus, if this is one of those _Harry Potter_ things, I’m gonna start throwing stuff at you,” Anya informed him. Rupert elbowed her. Anya elbowed him back.

Severus’s eyes flashed dangerously in Anya’s direction. “It is not one of those _Harry Potter_ things,” he said. “I would say the same about _any_ student—”

“What if it’s a Slytherin flying that car?” Anya countered. “Would you be all gung-ho about expulsion _then?”_

Rupert cleared his throat. This didn’t really do much.

“You know,” said Gilderoy Lockhart, giving the room a winning smile, “we can’t really blame Harry for wanting to be front page news, now, can we? Might have tasted fame with me in that bookshop and wanted a second helping!”

Minerva was getting a headache.

 _“At Any Rate,”_ said Albus, somehow managing to capture the attention of the room again without ever raising his voice, “we need to discuss what disciplinary action will be taken, so that we are prepared to discuss said disciplinary action with the students when they arrive.”

“Ahem,” said Rupert, a little more loudly. When attention turned to him, he pointed out, “Wouldn’t this fall under the Head of House’s jurisdiction? Once we know which students have flown the car, I think it should be the responsibility of their Head of House to discipline them sufficiently—as well as Professor Dumbledore, of course.”

“That is the protocol, yes,” said Albus.

“Right,” said Rupert, and gave Albus a tight smile full of visible dislike. “Because you have _so_ much respect for _protocol,_ Headmaster.”

Anya elbowed Rupert in the side so hard that he doubled over.

“Head of House!” said Minerva, in a desperate bid to stop this faculty meeting from turning into the unmitigated disaster that every single faculty meeting always did. “Seems like an excellent idea to follow protocol, Albus, let’s do that.”

 _“Someone_ will have to track down these students,” Severus began.

“Great!” Anya chirped. “I’ll do it. Seeing as _you’ll_ use the opportunity to bully and manipulate any student who isn’t a Slytherin, doubly so if it’s Harry, and I pride myself on being the most impartial of the professors here.” She considered, then gave Minerva an apologetic smile. “No offense, Minnie.”

“None at all taken,” said Minerva graciously, somewhat relieved. “Albus, I agree with Anya; I think she should be the one to look for the students. She isn’t a Head of House, which means that it isn’t quite as necessary for her to be at the start-of-term feast.”

“Also that,” Anya agreed, giving Albus a thumbs-up.

Severus was seething. _“Professor_ Jenkins,” he said through gritted teeth, _“may_ I talk to you in _private?”_

“No,” said Anya, and left.

“Well, I think that that’s as good a note as any to end our meeting on,” said Albus, clapping his hands together. “Anya will look for the students, and when she does finally locate them, she will notify their Head of House and me. The rest of you—business as usual!”

Minerva left with Rupert, who was still rubbing his side. “I’ve half a mind to elbow you myself, you know,” she informed him. “Antagonizing Albus is _not_ going to help Harry’s situation.”

“Has he told you _anything_ about why he is so hell-bent on keeping Harry there?” asked Rupert immediately. “He’s been ducking absolutely _all_ my meetings since the last one, and Jenny Calendar has asked me to—”

 _“Jenny Calendar?”_ said Minerva with some exasperation. “And I suppose there’s _no_ reason you chose _her_ to ask for help?”

Rupert looked almost startled by the question, and was quick to answer. “She’s deeply involved in political activism, and she has experience with situations such as this one. If anyone will be able to find a way to get Harry out of that house, it’s her.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him.

“Minerva, I’m honestly insulted that you think so little of me,” said Rupert firmly. “Any _rumored_ unprofessional feelings I might have towards Jenny Calendar have been entirely tabled. Harry’s safety is my first and only priority.”

This seemed genuine, but Minerva still had her suspicions about the entire arrangement. Though Rupert’s feelings regarding Jenny Calendar were something of an open secret among the staff (it was hard _not_ to notice when the man lit up like a Christmas tree every time Ms. Calendar wrote something for the _Prophet),_ Minerva suspected that she was the only one who had taken note of a rather important moment in Jenny Calendar's history. It had been an isolated incident over ten years ago, anyway; Minerva doubted Rupert would remember, and certainly hoped he wouldn’t piece it together very soon.

 _“Well,”_ she said. “I sincerely hope that Jenny Calendar will be able to help. What has she asked you to do?”

“She wants to know why Professor Dumbledore _refuses_ to let Harry leave his aunt and uncle,” answered Rupert immediately, looking relieved that Minerva had changed the subject. “She thinks that finding that out is the key to finding a way to convince him otherwise.”

Minerva nodded approvingly. “I’ll ask him myself, then,” she said. “It’s likely that he’ll trust me more with this information. No offense meant,” she added.

Rupert gave her a little grin. “None taken.”

* * *

Severus caught up to Anya when she was halfway down the hall, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face him. _“Whoa_ there,” said Anya, batting away his hands. “Did I not just tell you that I have absolutely _no_ interest in talking to you?”

“You had _no right_ to speak to me in that manner,” Severus spat.

“Did I say _anything_ that wasn’t true?” said Anya, her easy smile vanishing. She didn’t like Severus in the slightest. She’d seen enough tearful children failing Potions but too afraid to ask Severus for help, enough miserable Gryffindors losing points from their House but too ashamed to admit to Severus coming down harder on them for no reason—enough students made miserable by a miserable man. “I don’t care about your little sob story, Severus. You go out of your way to treat children horribly.”

The bluntness of her statement seemed to knock Severus off-kilter. He blinked at her for a moment and didn’t say anything.

“I won’t try to tell you that Harry Potter is a perfectly wonderful child—”

“He’s an arrogant, attention-seeking brat!” Severus snarled.

“Get the fuck over yourself,” said Anya coldly. “I _won’t_ try to tell you that, because you’ll respond exactly the way you just did. What I _will_ tell you is that no matter how much you hated James Potter, it’s a rare breed of cruelty to take out your hatred of another person on a child. Harry can’t help who his parents are. It’s not in his blood to become James, and you shouldn’t expect it to be.”

Severus was all but shaking with anger.

“He’s being _abused,_ Severus,” said Anya, and she couldn’t keep the wobble out of her voice at that one. “No matter how much you hated James—would you ask for _any_ child to be hurt so much and so often that he doesn’t even _try_ to escape it? The only reason he’s got even a chance at a way out is because Rupert and Minerva and I are working _tirelessly_ to try and find him one. He spent the first eleven years of his life without a drop of love.” She swallowed, hard, narrowing her eyes at him. “And that’s why I can’t abide by the fact that you go out of your way to hate him,” she said. “If you don’t like James, if you can’t stand the sight of a living reminder of James—I’d never dream to take that from you. You’re not Harry’s father. But you _are_ his teacher, and you have a responsibility to be a good one.”

Severus’s face hadn’t changed.

“I just…” Anya sighed. “I expect better from the teachers here,” she said. “I really, truly do. I think you should be a better man than you are. I think you were given a second chance to do good in this world, and you’re wasting it.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” said Severus, cold and flat.

“I don’t,” Anya agreed. “Nothing but what you’ve shown me. And from what you’ve shown me, I can’t say I like you very much.” She moved to leave; Severus caught her arm again. _“What?”_

Severus was looking at her with unusual intensity, as though this was the first time he was actually seeing her. “What would you have me do, then, Professor Jenkins?” he said. “Is it really so simple? I have built up an appearance and a reputation, and I have no interest in changing the way I operate to save the feelings of my students. I favor the Slytherins because it is what is expected of me; I am following instructions you do not and cannot understand.”

Anya shook her head. “You’re a cruel person,” she said. “You’re comfortable in it. And if you’re not going to be polite to your students, I’m certainly not going to be polite to _you.”_ With that, she turned on her heel, walking as fast as she could without looking like she was running away from him.

* * *

Severus watched her go with a strange feeling in his chest. The way Anya’s eyes had locked on his—it had felt familiar, almost. He didn’t dare label the woman she’d reminded him of.

* * *

As always, the group sat at the Gryffindor table for the feast, ignoring the many complaints from the third and fourth years as Willow, Faith, and Xander squeezed onto the bench. Hermione still looked somewhat pensive, glancing towards the double doors every so often as though Harry, Ron, and Buffy would show up any minute.

“If they didn’t come on the train, it might take them a little while to get here,” Tara pointed out.

 _“I_ heard that they’re getting _expelled,”_ Cordelia was saying to her Hufflepuff friend Harmony Kendall, who had stopped by the table on the way to her own. “Crashing a flying car into that big, ugly tree by the Quidditch pitch? It’s like my parents _always_ say—this is what happens when people from the _wrong_ side of the tracks end up at Hogwarts.”

Xander scooped a hefty spoonful of mashed potatoes and readied his spoon like a catapult, aiming it directly at Cordelia’s hair. Hermione snatched the spoon from his hands before he could let the mashed potatoes fly. _“Don’t!”_ she said. “You’ll lose Hufflepuff points before term’s even officially _started!”_

“It’d be _really_ worth it, though,” said Xander darkly. “You know she’s _just_ as bad as Draco, right?”

“Every House has a Draco,” said Hermione firmly. “The key is to _ignore them.”_

_“LOVEGOOD, LUNA!”_

“Oh, I like her earrings!” said Tara, smiling fondly at the tiny blonde girl making her way up to the Sorting Hat. “Do you think she made them herself?”

“Don’t you _know_ who that _is?”_ scoffed Cordelia. “That’s _Xenophilius Lovegood’s_ daughter.”

“Aww, I miss Buffy,” said Willow sadly. “She’d have really messed up that name.”

“Wait, that’s the guy who writes the _Quibbler,_ right?” said Xander with a frown.

“I bet Luna’s _just_ as nutso,” said Cordelia, pulling a face.

“Hmm,” said Tara, looking at Luna Lovegood (who had smiled, bright and guileless, upon being sorted into Ravenclaw) and then reached for the salt, knocking Cordelia’s soup into her lap. The motion was so fluid and careless that it _looked_ accidental, but Faith—who was sitting across from Tara—caught the purposeful glint in Tara’s eyes. _Nice,_ she thought, and didn’t say anything.

Cordelia _shrieked._ “These robes are _designer!”_

“Designer school robes?” said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “How _gauche.”_

Fuming, Cordelia began to try and mop at her robes. Tara took an innocent sip of pumpkin juice.

* * *

The Whomping Willow had snapped Ron’s wand nearly in two, the car had run off into the Forbidden Forest, and their trunks were now sitting in the wet grass without a trolley in sight to push them with. Add that to how bruised they all were from the crash, and Buffy was seriously starting to rethink her earlier statement about this being the _best day ever._ On the other hand, though— _“Wait_ till I tell Faith,” said Buffy gleefully, grinned, then winced. It kinda hurt to smile.

 _“How,”_ said Ron, “are you _still_ chipper?”

“Well, her wand’s not broken,” Harry pointed out. “That probably helps.”

 _“There_ you little idiots are!” came a voice. Buffy, Harry, and Ron had to shield their faces as a lit-up wand was waved very close to them; when their eyes finally adjusted to the light, an irritable-looking Professor Jenkins was clearly visible.

“…uh oh,” said Buffy.

 _“Uh oh_ is _damn_ right,” said Professor Jenkins reprovingly. “Ron, what happened to your _wand?”_

Ron made a sound not unlike the ghoul in the Weasleys’ house, then said, “I don’t _know!_ And I know my parents won’t be happy—”

“I’m sure we can work _that_ out later,” said Professor Jenkins, waving her wand to levitate all three of their trunks and free Hedwig from her cage. “Be free, birdy!” she informed Hedwig. “The Owlery’s that way.” Turning back to the three of them, she added, “Now. Just so we’re all on the same page, you three _did_ fly a car instead of taking the train, right?”

“Wait,” said Buffy. “How’d you know _that?”_

“I’m almost certain that there’s an article in the _Evening Prophet,”_ said Professor Jenkins, giving them a small, tight smile that didn’t look anything like her usual big, open-mouthed grins. None of them had _ever_ seen Professor Jenkins angry, and this…didn’t seem like that. This was worse, somehow; Professor Jenkins seemed _disappointed._

 _Oh, no,_ Buffy thought. Giles wouldn’t be happy with them at _all!_ He’d made them _promise_ to be careful, and this was the _exact opposite_ of that. Hanging her head, she said quietly, “Yeah, we—we flew the car.”

“Okay,” said Professor Jenkins, tapping her finger against her chin. “So where is it?”

“Well—”

“We hit a tree—or, um, the tree hit _us,”_ Harry corrected himself, “and then the car got mad and chucked our stuff and went into the Forbidden Forest.”

Professor Jenkins winced. “Yikes,” she said. “You guys got the Whomping Willow with a _car?_ Pomona’s _definitely_ going to have to have a look at that one.” With a sigh, she leaned down a little to look the three of them in the eye. “Listen, I know you all got very used to doing the whole chaotic-adventure thing last year,” she said, “but you _can’t_ do that this time around. Whatever it was that made you take the car—because I’m sure the three of you genuinely thought it was an emergency, and you weren’t just going on a joyride for kicks—is it something that could have been fixed had you talked to an adult, or sent your owl ahead with a letter to Hogwarts?”

Buffy, Harry, and Ron were suddenly very unable to look at each other.

“And you have to understand,” Professor Jenkins continued, “that Professor Giles and I care a whole lot about you. I’d include Professor McGonagall in there too, actually—and can you imagine how upsetting it would be if three students from her House got themselves seriously hurt? Even if it _hadn’t_ broken the Statute of Secrecy, what would have happened if the car had run out of gas? Or if it just suddenly _stopped_ being able to fly?” She brought back her tight little smile. “Everyone was very worried about the three of you,” she said. “Obviously you’re going to be in some trouble with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, so I think I should take you to see them right now.” With a wave of her wand, the trunks were deposited carefully by the front steps, Hedwig’s empty cage landing right on top.

Buffy sniffled. “Professor Jenkins?” she said. “I’m—I mean, _we’re_ really, really sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Professor Jenkins. She didn’t look any less disappointed, though. “I’ll take you inside.”

* * *

When Harry, Ron, and Buffy finally showed up, an irate Hermione in tow, Tara felt acutely relieved. Getting up from her chair by the fire (and placing Miss Kitty back on her shoulder), she wove her way through the crowd of excited, congratulatory Gryffindors to give them each a brief hug. “Are you okay?” she asked them. “Everyone’s been saying things about all of you flying the car—is that what really happened?”

“The barrier wouldn’t _open,”_ said Ron, pitching his voice a little louder so that the entirety of Gryffindor Tower could hear them. “So really, we _had_ to. Couldn’t be helped.”

Harry was grinning too—a tiny, half-ashamed little grin, like he knew he was in trouble but didn’t really mind all that much—but Buffy still looked positively dismal. “Are _you_ okay?” Tara asked her a little more quietly.

“I bet Professor Giles is gonna be _so_ disappointed in me,” Buffy said miserably. “I _promised_ him I’d stay safe over the summer!”

“Well,” said Hermione pragmatically, “he’s only disappointed in you because he expects better from you. So long as you don’t do anything as reckless for the rest of the year—”

Buffy looked up, outraged. “I can’t promise that!”

“You…can’t promise that you won’t fly a semi-illegal magically modified car again?” Hermione clarified, looking extremely concerned.

“We don’t know what’s gonna happen this year!” Buffy pointed out. “Moldy Wart is still out there!”

 _“Please_ stop calling him that,” muttered Ron.

“If I have to go up against him in midair, you _bet_ I’d want to use a flying car to try and run him over,” Buffy continued.

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, _“when_ could this scenario _possibly_ happen?”

“I don’t know! It could!”

“How are you doing?” Tara asked Harry.

Harry gave Tara a small, shy smile. “Buffy says Jenny Calendar and Professor Giles are going to make sure I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys next summer,” he said.

“Oh, that’s _good!”_ said Tara, feeling a rush of relief. “That’s really good, Harry. I’m really glad.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, smile widening. “It’s a lot to look forward to this year, I guess.”

“Honestly, I hope this flying car fiasco is the _most_ exciting thing that happens this year,” said Hermione with mingled exasperation and exhaustion. “It _should_ be, after the year we had _last_ year. Probability states—”

“Well, actually, when you flip a coin twice, the first coin flip and the second coin flip aren’t connected,” Buffy pointed out. “It’s not _usual_ that you get two heads in a row, but it _can_ happen, ‘cause the first coin flip getting heads doesn’t make the second coin flip getting heads any less likely.”

There was a surprised silence. “That’s…correct,” said Hermione uneasily, “but it really wasn’t the point I wanted to make.”

“I’m just saying,” said Buffy with a cheerful shrug. “You never know.”

Tara looked down at Miss Kitty on her shoulder, who darted her tongue out to lick Tara’s cheek. Reaching up to gently pet Miss Kitty, Tara privately thought that this year had _better_ be boring, uneventful, and generally school-like. These last peaceful three months had made her very sure that she had had _quite_ enough adventure for the time being.

“My money’s on tails this year,” she said with a small smile. “Lots of class, lots of studying, lots of time by the lake.”

“Suit yourself,” said Buffy nonchalantly, and headed in the direction of the girls’ dormitory.


	5. the ducklings vs. some pixies

Professor Gilderoy Lockhart was an idiot.

It didn’t take a lot to figure _that_ one out, Ron thought, but he didn’t understand why some of his friends were being so _weird_ about it. Sure, Harry and Buffy both had the appropriate amount of patience for the kind of brainless moron that let a bunch of _Cornish pixies_ loose in the classroom (which was to say: absolutely no patience whatsoever), but Hermione and Xander were _swooning_ over Lockhart’s golden hair and glittery smile, Tara was saying somewhat pityingly that it “wasn’t Lockhart’s fault” that he was a brainless moron (only she was saying it a bit nicer than that), and Faith was watching Lockhart cower from the Cornish pixies in the same way Ron’s brothers watched the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. “GET HIM!” she shouted from under her desk. “GET HIS STUPID HAIR!”

Willow, however, was the scariest of all.

Willow was taking _notes._

“Let’s see,” Willow murmured, squeezing herself in between Ron and Buffy under their desk. Glancing at her parchment, Ron’s jaw dropped: the heading was _Profile on Gilderoy Lockhart._ “He _says_ he’s fought bigger, better things than Cornish pixies—” she drew an emphatic line from one word cloud to another, “—as mentioned in _Year with the Yeti, Break with a Banshee,_ and pretty much every single other book he’s written. But right _now—”_ She looked up again from her paper, squinting across the classroom as Gilderoy Lockhart desperately tried to squeeze himself under a _different_ desk. “He’s acting like he’s never even _seen_ a pixie before.”

“Have _you?”_

“California pixies are a little different,” said Willow, “but they’re not _that_ bad. My mom used a pixie-repelling charm to keep them off the property.”

Ron blinked. “Wait,” he said. “Are you from _California?”_

 _That_ got Willow to look up from her notes. With a small smile—one that he’d learned from experience meant that she was biting back a giggle—she said, “Ron, I’ve got an _American accent._ How did you just _miss_ that?”

“No, but—” Ron waved a hand. “If you’re from _California,_ shouldn’t you be going to an _American_ wizarding school?”

“They have those?” said Harry with interest, sticking his head out from under the desk next to them.

Willow grinned. “My mom works as a Ministry diplomat, remember?” she said. “I was born in Sunnydale, but my family lived in a lot of different places, so I qualified for a lot of different wizarding schools.”

“That’s what I figured,” said Hermione thoughtfully.

Ron stared at her. “You _knew_ she was from California?”

“Well, yes, but I also thought that there was probably a solid _reason,”_ Hermione pointed out. “As with Xander, and Buffy, and Tara, and—well, I’m not so sure about Faith.”

Faith was still watching Lockhart, who wasn’t even attempting to do anything about the pixies. When Harry nudged her, she blinked with some annoyance, then said, _“What?”_

“Faith, how come you’re in Hogwarts?” Harry asked. “Hermione says there are American wizarding schools that you could’ve—”

“Got the letter for this one,” said Faith, as though this answered the question entirely.

“But—”

“That’s it,” said Faith.

“I mean, that’s what happened with me too,” said Buffy with a small shrug. “I didn’t get _any_ letters from American wizarding schools—just Hogwarts. Mom and Dad both got job offers up here at around the same time, so…” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Sometimes things just work out, I guess.”

Tara was frowning quizzically at Buffy, but when Hermione turned expectant eyes to her, she blinked. "Oh! Um, my mom had family in Scotland, I think—and besides which my d-dad had already written American schools not to bother sending letters for me."

“And I’m a Sunnydale native like Willow, but Willow’s parents pulled some strings so I could go to Hogwarts with her,” said Xander with a sheepish grin.

“Yep!” said Willow, beaming. “I wasn’t going _anywhere_ without Xander.”

Hermione, however, was looking between Buffy and Faith with a growing frown. “But you two don’t make _sense,”_ she said. “I mean—I figured Tara _chose_ Hogwarts, that’s why she got in, and Xander and Willow have a reason, I knew they had to, but—Buffy, Faith, that doesn’t make _sense._ By all rights, you shouldn’t _be_ here.”

“What, ‘cause we’re _Mudbloods?”_ snapped Faith hotly.

Hermione gave Faith a Look. _“Really,”_ she said. “Do you really think _I_ would believe that Muggleborns shouldn’t be at Hogwarts?”

Harry gave an embarrassed-looking Faith a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“So wait,” said Ron. “Can we circle back to the fact that Willow’s taking _notes_ on Lockhart? Why is Willow taking _notes_ on Lockhart?”

“But Buffy and Faith—” Hermione protested.

“C’mon, Hermione.” Ron waved a hand. “Dumbledore knows what he’s doing.”

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione slumped back against the wall, watching the classroom descend into havoc. “Why _are_ you taking notes on Lockhart, Willow?” she asked grudgingly.

As if reminded that her notes existed, Willow immediately went back to scribbling.

“Willow?” said Ron a little nervously.

Willow looked up from her notes, cocking her head at Lockhart. “He doesn’t make _sense,”_ she said. “All those things in his books that he says he’s done—”

“Oh, come off it,” Ron scoffed. “He clearly hasn’t.”

“Shut up, man, he _has!”_ Xander objected.

“No, but that’s the thing!” said Willow earnestly. “Both of your statements can be clearly argued for! How could he know how to do all of those incredible, amazing things and then end up intimidated by a bunch of _pixies?”_

Xander and Hermione, seemingly appeased by the fact that Willow hadn’t yet taken a position, were begrudgingly nodding. “I’ll admit it truly doesn’t make much sense,” Hermione agreed reluctantly. “But isn’t the simplest solution usually the right one? Why is it so implausible for him to have done all those things?”

The bell rang. In the mad dash for the exit, Lockhart caught sight of Ron, Buffy, Hermione, and Tara (who had nearly made it to the door), and said, “Well, the three of you can handle this, can’t you? Consider it extra credit.” With that, he pushed past them, shutting the door in their faces. 

_“THAT,”_ said Ron. _“THAT IS WHY, HERMIONE.”_

* * *

 _“Really,”_ said Professor Giles, waving his wand to heal the pixie bite Buffy had sustained. “Do you just _attract_ trouble?”

“That one was Professor Lockhart’s fault,” said Buffy indignantly. “Not mine!”

Professor Giles raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know Professor Lockhart had teeth that tiny.”

“What— _eew!_ That’s not what I mean!”

“If he bites someone, does that mean he gets sacked?” said Ron dismally. He was lying on the sofa in Professor Giles’s office and looking for all the world like he’d been through some kind of war. Hermione was pretty sure there was glue in his hair. “Please let him get sacked.”

“In all my years of teaching here,” said Professor Giles firmly, “not a single Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has lasted any longer than a year. I strongly doubt that Professor Lockhart will be the exception. _What_ were you doing in his classroom that ended with all of you looking such a mess?”

“He loosed a cage of Cornish pixies on the classroom,” said Tara morosely. “And they _weren’t_ nice!”

Professor Giles blinked a few times, then said, “I’m sorry. This _professor_ let a cage of _Cornish pixies_ loose in a room full of _twelve-year-olds?”_

“And then he hid under his desk for the rest of the class,” Willow added.

“And _then_ he made us clean it up!” Buffy piped up.

Professor Giles looked _thunderous._ “I see,” he said.

“Professor Giles, _why_ is he a professor?” demanded Faith. “The guy doesn’t know how to teach _one class_ without wrecking an entire classroom!”

“That, I’m afraid, is beyond my jurisdiction,” said Professor Giles, in a way that suggested that he wasn’t all that happy about that. “You would have to ask the Headmaster—and Merlin knows I have done my _very best_ to do just that.”

 _“Ugh,”_ said Faith, and flopped back onto the sofa, landing directly on Ron.

As a minor scuffle broke out between Faith and a somewhat winded Ron (resolved relatively quickly when Harry separated them by sitting down in between them), Buffy pulled herself up to sit on Professor Giles’s desk. “Professor Giles,” she said a little shyly, “are you gonna come down and watch Quidditch tryouts? I’m trying out for Chaser and I practiced a _whole_ bunch while I was staying with Ron this summer.”

“Beater,” said Faith, raising her hand from the sofa.

“Wait, since _when?”_ said Buffy.

“Since I found out Beaters get to _hit things,”_ said Faith enthusiastically.

“…not really a broomstick kind of person,” said Tara uneasily.

“Me neither,” Willow agreed.

“Chaser!” said Xander, and high-fived Faith.

Ron didn’t say anything.

“I prefer the more _theoretical_ aspects of Quidditch,” said Hermione, which she thought sounded better than _I don’t like flying all that much._ “But I know I’ll be there to cheer all of you on!”

Professor Giles was smiling slightly. “Well,” he said. “Who would I be if I wasn’t there to cheer on my ducklings?”

“Is _that_ what you’re calling us?” said Faith, making a face. “I’m not a _duckling.”_

“Blame Professor Jenkins,” said Professor Giles airily. “I know I usually do.”

* * *

Two days later, Buffy got up _extra_ early for pretty much the first time in her life, put on her favorite sweater, her gem-studded jeans, and her sparkly sneakers (it was Quidditch tryouts, which meant she could wear _whatever she wanted),_ and raced down to the field before anyone else in Gryffindor Tower was even awake. When she got there, Giles was pouring himself a cup of tea from a thermos, a small container of scones on the grass next to him. “Ah, Buffy,” he said, giving her a small grin. “I did expect that you might be down here rather early. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes _please,”_ said Buffy with relief. She hadn’t _wanted_ to fly on an empty stomach, but she’d been so focused on getting up early that she’d completely forgotten about eating. Grabbing a scone, she proceeded to gracelessly wolf it down.

Giles scooted the thermos towards her.

Sitting down next to him, Buffy said, “Wanna see me do a loop-the-loop? Ginny taught me how.” She brightened up a little. _“And_ Ginny promised she’d come and watch me make Chaser! She’s probably going to be down in about an hour when tryouts _actually_ start, though—”

“Ginny?” repeated Giles.

“Ron’s little sister.” A flood of warm butterflies rushed through Buffy’s chest. “She’s _so_ cool! She doesn’t know what pens are but she _does_ know how to do a loop-the-loop and her hair is _really_ long but she always ties it up for Quidditch and she’s only eleven but she acts like she’s _thirteen_ except when she’s around Harry which is weird but I bet she’ll get over it soon ‘cause—”

Giles held up a hand with a small smile. “I’m glad you’ve made friends with Ginny Weasley,” he said. “She’s the one who’s always passing notes in my History of Magic class, I think. I’m pretending not to notice at the moment.”

Buffy giggled. “That sounds like her.”

As if on cue, Ginny came sprinting down the Quidditch pitch, red hair billowing out behind her. _“Buffy!”_ she said, beaming. “I came down early ‘cause I wanted to see your Nimbus! Will you let me have a go after you?”

“Um, _obviously,”_ said Buffy, grinning back. “Oh, that reminds me!” She took a quick swig from Giles’s thermos, then jumped up, picking up her Nimbus. “Wanna watch me fly?”

“Um, _obviously,”_ Ginny parroted with a giggle.

Swinging her leg over the broom, Buffy took a breath, savoring the moment. She could feel the power of the Nimbus underneath her— _way_ better than the old Cleansweeps they’d taught flying lessons on last year—and the breeze seemed to be picking up speed as she prepared to take off. Kicking off from the ground, Buffy felt the wonderful, incredible, just-plain- _awesome_ feeling of _flying,_ and she flattened herself against the broom as she soared higher into the sky.

Everything made _sense_ up here, Buffy thought, doing a quick lap around the Quidditch pitch in only a handful of seconds. Quidditch itself was a relatively violent sport, if Harry’s matches were anything to go by, but flying itself reminded Buffy of ice skating: athletic and graceful all in one. She did a loop-the-loop, hoping that Giles was watching, and then another one for good measure.

“GO BUFFY!” shouted another familiar voice from down below. When Buffy looked down, her heart _soared:_ all of her friends had gathered to watch her fly. Willow was clutching a pair of binoculars, Ron, Xander, and Faith were all shouting over each other in their excitement to cheer her on, Tara looked a mixture of proud and nervous, and Hermione…well, Hermione looked more nervous than proud, but the pride was still visible. Even Harry, who had a Nimbus of his own, remained solidly on the ground, tilting his head back to beam up at her.

“GO ME!” Buffy yelled back down, and went into a dive, zooming by her friends to come to a skidding stop in front of— _oh._

 _“Go Buffy_ does seem to be an adequate way to frame it, yes,” said Professor McGonagall, giving Buffy one of those rare, tight-lipped smiles. “Rupert, might I speak with you in private?”

“What—oh, yes, yes, of course,” said Professor Giles, jumping up and looking unusually flustered. “Is this about—”

“My meeting with Albus,” said Professor McGonagall, “was _particularly_ illuminating.”

* * *

As soon as they were out of the children’s earshot, Giles immediately started in on Minerva. “ _Did_ you talk to him about that _ridiculous_ stunt Lockhart pulled because _honestly_ I spent _ten minutes_ patching up those children from the pixies and if he’s letting _that_ happen then I can honestly understand why—”

“Rupert, your growing animosity for Albus is deeply concerning,” said Minerva crisply, “but I cannot say I don’t understand where you’re coming from. The information he relayed to me is information that he asked me to keep entirely private, but given how _violently_ I disagree with him—” She shuddered, then pressed her lips together. “Regardless. This conversation is not a vehicle for my pent-up frustrations regarding the way this school is managed.”

“Not for _you,_ anyway,” Giles muttered darkly.

 _“Rupert,”_ said Minerva, in a way that made him feel a bit like he was back at school again.

Giles let out a breath. “Right,” he said. “Fine. What did Dumbledore tell you?”

It took Minerva a moment to speak. Finally, she said, “Lily Potter’s blood protection is what keeps Harry safe from harm. It is a very old and very powerful magic, and it was enacted when Petunia Dursley chose to take Harry in. As long as he is living with a blood relative of Lily Potter, he is protected from the likes of You-Know-Who.”

Giles took this in. Slowly, he said, “So Dumbledore’s insistence on keeping Harry with the Dursleys—”

“Is entirely necessary to keep Harry _alive,”_ said Minerva. She wasn’t smiling.

But Giles thought of his father, and of the way a child felt when there was no one to turn to for comfort. “No,” he said; his voice came out almost hoarse. “I refuse to agree that the solution Dumbledore has fenced us all into is the only possible one.”

“I thought you would.” Minerva fixed him with a purposeful stare. “You and Jenny Calendar need to come up with something more long-lasting, more convincing, more _powerful_ than blood magic, and you need to do it before the year is up. No child should be sent back to that house.”

“There were bars on his windows, Minerva,” said Giles quietly. “Did Dumbledore mention _that?”_

A shadow crossed Minerva’s face. “I sometimes wonder,” she said. “Had I—had I pushed Albus harder. That night.”

“Don’t,” said Giles, and reached out to grip her shoulder.

“Rupert—” Minerva shrugged him off. “I watched that family, eleven years ago. I watched them, and I _knew_ what they would do, and I just _let—”_

“This is not your fault,” said Giles firmly. “He wouldn’t have listened to you. He _didn’t_ listen to you.”

Minerva didn’t look entirely convinced. Giles didn’t blame her. It was hard not to blame oneself in a situation like this, and harder still not to feel wholly powerless to fix it. “We should go watch the Quidditch trials,” she said instead.

“Quite,” said Giles, relieved at the change of subject.

* * *

Buffy got in. No one was very surprised about this. Harry was over the _moon_ about it, and he and Buffy spent the entirety of lunch excitedly discussing Quidditch strategies and broom-maintenance technique and how they’d _definitely_ support each other _so hard_ during the coming Gryffindor-Slytherin match.

Ron poked at his mashed potatoes and didn’t say anything.

“You know,” said Tara, “you never mentioned if _you_ wanted to try out.”

Heavily, Ron said, “I wouldn’t get _in,_ Tara, so what’s the point in trying? I’m not _Buffy,_ and I’m not _Harry,_ so—”

“Why would you want to be Buffy or Harry?” Tara persisted gently. “You’re _Ron._ And if you _did_ want to be a part of the Gryffindor team, I think they’d be _lucky_ to have you.”

Ron exhaled. Then he said, “I’m just not _good_ at it.”

“Do you need help practicing?”

 _“No,_ I—”

“Then how are you going to get better?”

Ron glared up at her, but there wasn’t any vitriol behind it. “Don’t know why you spent a year stammering, Tara,” he said, and almost smiled. “You’re probably the best person in this school to talk to.”

“Oh—okay,” said Tara, blushing furiously, and went back to her lunch with a little smile on her face.

Faith and Xander had also gotten in and had already been to their first team practice. Xander was trying to explain to Faith that aiming a Bludger at another member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team was not going to help the team at all during an actual game. Faith was trying to explain to Xander that if they were _practicing,_ and if they were the only team on the pitch, then of _course_ she was going to try and knock Cedric Diggory off his broom, because she _liked hitting things._ Neither of them seemed to be convincing the other of anything.

“Do you think you’re going to try out next year?” Hermione asked Ginny kindly.

“…” said Ginny, who hadn’t said a word since Harry had sat down across from her.

“She said she wants to be Chaser too!” said Buffy cheerfully, nudging Ginny with an encouraging smile. Ginny, to the surprise of everyone at the table but Buffy, _beamed_ back. “She and I are gonna be the _total_ dream team. We’re gonna play for the Holyhead Harpies after school, we’ve _decided—”_

“That’s really cool!” said Harry, sounding almost surprised by it. “Ginny, how come you never mentioned—”

“…!!!” said Ginny, blushing furiously, and hid her face in Buffy’s shoulder.

Buffy looked from Ginny to Harry and back, a dawning comprehension in her eyes.

 _“Anyway,”_ said Willow, and gracefully started up a conversation about the Herbology homework. (“There’s _Herbology homework?”_ moaned Ron, and proceeded to frantically pull out a roll of parchment, beginning to haphazardly scribble down random answers.) She was good at that, Hermione thought, deflecting without making it obvious—and it was clear that Ginny was grateful for it.

* * *

“Junk, junk, more memos from my boss—I will _write my article on my own time, Francis,_ you _know_ I get it in before the deadline!” Jenny crumpled up the bright pink memo and tossed it behind her.

“You know that one landed _directly_ in the trash can?” said Remus from the kitchen table, sounding deeply impressed.

“What?” Jenny turned to see. “Oh, _nice!_ Think I can make it as a pro basketball player?”

“Darling, you are approximately the size of a dwarf crossed with a pixie,” said Remus affectionately, going back to reading the _Prophet._

“Dick.” Jenny stuck her tongue out at him, continuing to sort through their mail. “More junk, more _Witch Weekly—”_

“Are you _still_ subscribed to that? It’s been _years.”_

“Sometimes I like to cut up their magazines and make feminist collages.”

“You do _not.”_

“…okay, fine. Sometimes they have some really great articles about spicing up your sex life.”

“Is _that_ where you learned to do that thing with your—”

“Oh, hey!” Jenny tugged the last letter free, patting the Ministry owl on the head and pushing the tin of owl treats in its direction. “This one’s from Professor Giles! Think he’s got any good news?”

“Likely not,” said Remus a little ruefully.

“Pessimist.” Jenny crossed the kitchen to drape her arms around his shoulders, handing him the letter. “Read it?”

“Why _me?”_

“Because you have a calm, soothing voice, and if _you’re_ the one saying the words, I probably won’t throw anything if the letter has bad news.”

“Mm. Fair point.” Remus opened the letter and began to read.

* * *

_Ms. Calendar and Mr. Lupin,_

_As Professor Dumbledore has been avoiding all attempts made by me to schedule further meetings, I enlisted Professor McGonagall to ask him about his motivation for keeping Harry with the Dursleys. The answers she brought back were—in my opinion, at least—deeply disquieting._

_The reason that Harry must remain with the Dursleys is entirely tied to blood. Apparently, when Lily Potter sacrificed herself to save her son, her love for Harry protected him from the Killing Curse meant to end his life. To maintain that level of protection, Harry was sent to live with a blood relative of Lily’s, whose acceptance of Harry into her home would keep him magically guarded from Death Eaters and their ilk. As such, Harry’s living situation—at least according to Dumbledore—must remain as it is._

* * *

“Jenny?”

“Mm?”

“You’re—ah—holding onto me quite tightly.”

“Oh!” Jenny loosened her grip. “Sorry, I just—”

Carefully, Remus removed himself from her arms. “Much as I love you,” he said, “I _do_ need to breathe in order to finish reading this letter.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny thinly, and managed a small smile. “Yeah, of course, I—”

Remus caught her hand in his, squeezing it. “I know,” he said, and continued to read.

* * *

_I, of course, strenuously disagree._

* * *

“Thank MORGANA,” said Jenny very loudly. “I was about to Apparate over to Hogwarts and give him a piece of my mind!”

“I’m sure you were, dear,” said Remus.

“I _was!”_

* * *

_Any living situation that unsafe and bereft of love is no suitable place for a child, regardless of the blood magic that keeps him protected against malicious magical attacks. I feel convinced that there must be some magical alternative to Lily Potter’s blood protection, and hope that our meeting in October might be devoted to finding that solution instead. Though I am aware that Ms. Calendar is the only one meeting with me at this juncture, I would also ask that Mr. Lupin contribute to the process in any way possible. I am aware of the potential problems with publicly involving him in such a high-risk project, but if he is not a public part of said project, I am sure it will have no bearing on Harry’s situation. (I must apologize, here: I hope that this does not make Mr. Lupin feel as though I am trying to relegate him to the position of an uncomfortable secret. I have the deepest respect for him and his work. Unfortunately, greater wizarding society has not quite caught on to human decency just yet.)_

* * *

“I like this guy,” said Jenny with satisfaction.

Remus, who had been blushing furiously throughout the last two paragraphs, managed a weak nod. “That’s,” he said, then, “Yes,” and finally, “He’s…quite sweet.”

“Oh, _is_ he?” said Jenny significantly.

“Do shut up, Jenny.”

“Wow.” Jenny kissed him on the cheek. “Rude. You gonna leave me for Professor Giles?”

With a laugh, Remus finished reading the last of the letter.

* * *

_I await your reply, and (presumably) your arrival in October. Shall we make it the 31st? The Halloween feast means that the school—and, by extension, its headmaster—will be sufficiently busy enough not to take notice of any private meetings I might hold._

_Best,_

_Professor Rupert Giles_

* * *

_Professor Giles,_

_This is some seriously disheartening news to receive, but I’m glad you’re not giving up just yet. Harry’s lucky to have you in his corner._

_Remus and I are going to spend the next month delving deep into magical research instead of ridiculous legalese. Hopefully by the time we meet in October, we’ll have a few tentative ideas about the next steps we need to take—and even if we don’t, meeting in person to talk things over will probably be helpful to steer us in the right direction._

_Thank you, again, for your tireless work on Harry’s behalf. His parents were and are very important people to me._

_Jenny Calendar_

* * *

“Don’t frame it,” Anya advised him.

“I’m not going to— _why_ do I even let you _in_ here,” said Rupert, pushing her shoes off the desk.

“I’m serious!” Anya swatted at his elbow as he passed her. “You’re gonna look like a _total_ freak if Jenny Calendar comes in and sees that you’ve framed the letter she sent you.”

“I’m putting it in the _shoebox,_ Anya, for _organizational_ purposes, and _stop_ looking at me like that—”

There was a knock on Rupert’s office door.

“Ooooh, is it your _girlfriend_ Jenny Calendar?” Anya teased. “Do you think she’s leaving her husband for you?”

“You are _not_ my friend anymore, Anya,” Rupert informed her.

Anya rolled her eyes, getting up to open the door. Her smile froze on her face.

“Professor Jenkins, I assumed I’d find you here,” said Severus. He looked about as confused as Anya felt. “May we speak for a moment?”

“I don’t know,” said Anya. “Rupert and I were having a really important academic conversation.”

Rupert was currently doing his best to simultaneously hide the letter from Jenny Calendar in his Jenny Calendar shoebox while also hiding the shoebox. It didn’t seem to be going so great.

“Later, then?”

“I mean—I _guess,”_ said Anya skeptically. “What do you want from me, anyway?”

“…I am not entirely sure,” said Severus, and left.

“Well, _that_ was weird,” said Anya. “Anyway—”

But Rupert was watching Severus leave with a funny expression. “Do you know,” he said, “I don’t think he’s ever once tried to interact with either of us in a way that isn’t insulting or condescending? What exactly _did_ you tell him after that faculty meeting?”

“I don’t particularly care,” said Anya, shutting the door. “He’s a complete asshole who bullies children.” Rupert still looked strangely contemplative, so she decided to bring up something else; she didn’t at all feel like being reminded of Severus’s existence when she wasn’t on the clock. “Do you need any pointers on seducing a married woman? I can help.”

“Anya, _really,”_ said Rupert, which very effectively changed the subject.

* * *

Buffy, Harry, and Ron all had detention on account of the whole flying car thing, which meant that they missed out on tea in Professor Giles’s office with Professor Giles, Professor Jenkins, Professor Giles’s cat, and the three kittens that Professor Giles still hadn’t given away just yet. “Mimi is _quite_ fond of Elinor,” Professor Giles was saying, “so I think she’s the one I’ll be keeping—”

“Elinor, as in Dashwood?” said Willow with interest.

“Quite,” said Professor Giles, smiling. “I’ve been in a bit of an Austenian mood as of late, and Elinor is a shockingly sensible little cat. But I _do_ still need to find places for Darcy and…ah, _Bitey.”_

“I don’t think you need to worry about _that,”_ said Professor Jenkins.

Willow followed the jerk of Professor Jenkins’s head to the fire, and had to bite back a little smile. Faith had scooped up the little gray kitten and was whispering to him with an oddly serious intensity. Bitey was trying to eat her hair.

“Faith?” said Professor Giles a little more loudly, smiling slightly. “Would you like to keep Bitey as your own? You’d be doing me a favor; I need to find him a suitable home.”

Faith stared at Professor Giles with _huge_ eyes. It was rare that Willow saw _that_ expression on her face. “As _my own,”_ she repeated. _“Mine.”_

“Yes, yours—”

 _“Mine,”_ said Faith again with satisfaction, and tugged Bitey free of her hair. He began to chew on her sweater instead. “Good kitty.”

“You know he’s going to destroy _everything_ he touches, don’t you?” said Hermione warily.

 _“Best_ kitty,” said Faith blissfully.

“I’ll ask around, see if anyone in my Ancient Runes class wants a kitten,” Professor Jenkins was offering.

“Thank you, Anya, that _would_ be much appreciated—”

Willow scooted over to sit by the fire. “When do you think they’ll be back?” she asked Hermione.

 _“Well,”_ said Hermione. “Ron’s got detention with Filch—”

“Oh, I _hope_ he doesn’t get slugs on anything,” said Tara anxiously. There had been a particularly nasty mishap during the Gryffindor Quidditch practice—one that had left Willow wishing that Ron’s curse _had_ hit the person it was intended for, because _no one_ should call Hermione something as awful as _that._ Willow had comforted herself by stealing Draco’s Potions homework, crumpling it up in a little ball, and hiding it under the sofa in the Slytherin common room. “Filch will get _really_ mad.”

Hermione winced a little. “Yes. Well, Ron’s got detention with Filch, Harry’s got it with Lockhart, and Buffy has it with McGonagall.” Tara glowed a little at _McGonagall._ “So it might be a little while until—”

Harry tumbled into the room, eyes wide. He looked deeply shaken.

“Goodness, Harry, are you all right?” said Professor Giles. “Do you need some tea?”

Wordlessly, Harry shook his head. “Just—wanted to check in,” he said jerkily. “Can I—um—can _we—”_

“Is it anything we can help with?” asked Professor Jenkins with a worried frown.

Harry chewed on his lip, then shook his head again. “No, it’s—it’s fine,” he said. “Just got tired. Thought I heard—something. Never mind.”

Professor Giles and Professor Jenkins exchanged a worried look, but didn’t press it.

Willow had no such qualms. _“What’s_ going on?” she demanded in a low whisper as soon as Harry sat down next to her. “You look like you’ve seen a _ghost!”_

“More like _heard_ one,” said Harry.

“…what?” 

“Listen,” said Harry quietly. “When I was in detention with Lockhart, I heard this voice…”


End file.
